


the strength to stay

by violetclarity



Series: the strength to stay [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Body Image, Case Fic, Chubby Draco Malfoy, Dreams and Nightmares, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Insecurity, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Potions Abuse, Suspense, canonical violence, extremely brief use of an IV, forced drugging, very brief mention of addiction and overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-01 19:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15149993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetclarity/pseuds/violetclarity
Summary: Draco and Harry are the best Senior Aurors in the DMLE, which is why they’re working the case about Wings – a dangerous new potion that sends users into a dreamscape from which they may never return. When Harry is kidnapped by the group behind Wings, Draco takes it upon himself to go after him, and is forced to confront the reality of Harry’s feelings for him, which he’s been ignoring for years.





	the strength to stay

**Author's Note:**

> To everyone who helped me bring this story to life: from the bottom of my heart, thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> This story has some dark tags, but it is not a dark story. For a full explanation of the tags, please see the end note. If you have further concerns or questions, please feel free to contact me via tumblr or discord.
> 
> The title comes from my prompt song: Angels By The Wings by Sia. To avoid spoilers, the full prompt can be found in the end note. Thank you to the hd-wireless mods for making this fest happen <3 I had a blast.

Draco dropped his forehead to the table and groaned. From across the room, Harry was laughing at him. He lifted his head to glare at his partner, but a piece of parchment stuck to his face for a moment before falling off and drifting back to the table, which ruined the effect.

Harry laughed harder. He was spread out on Draco’s sofa, purple stocking feet resting on one of the arms while he held his report above his head and marked things off with a biro. Now he put the papers on the coffee table and rolled to face Draco.

“I hate paperwork,” Draco groused.

Harry smiled. “I know. That’s why we do it like this, remember? I bribe you with takeaway and we get it all done in one night.”

The tradition had begun six months into their first year as partners, back when they were Junior Aurors and still tip-toeing around each other on a daily basis. Harry had opened Draco’s desk drawer to look for a fresh pot of ink while Draco was in the loo, and discovered the backlog of half-finished case reports hidden there. He’d insisted they stay at work until they finished them, and they’d spent a miserable four hours that night, stumbling to the chippy down the street – the only place still open – before they each went home and rolled into bed. It was the first meal they’d shared in peace, and the following week, when Harry had suggested they do it again, it hadn’t occurred to Draco to say no. Almost seven years later, it was a weekly tradition. Harry usually picked up the takeaway; Draco usually hosted.

“You can’t tell me you like this,” Draco said, gesturing to the pile of notes he had spread out in front of him.

Harry shrugged. “It’s part of the job, Draco. We need to keep a record of what we’ve done.”

“But–” Draco picked out a sheaf of his notes from the previous week. “Look here. All of my notes on the Wings case, all the observations I’ve made, and what’s Robards going to do with them? Throw them in the case file and leave them there to get dusty. Merlin forbid my lowly Auror notes be handed off to Simmons and Tanaka or the Unspeakables! What’s the point of even having us record all of this if he’s not going to use it?”

Harry sighed. “He looks at the notes, Draco, he ignored them one time–”

“If it happened once, it could happen again,” Draco said. “I’ve been in the field long enough to make _good_ notes, _helpful_ ones! We aren’t fresh-faced Juniors–”

“But we’re still in the general corps, Draco, so he has to treat us like everybody else.” Harry fixed Draco with a familiar look. “If you hate it so much, you should apply to be a detective. You’d have more responsibility, and Robards would have to take your hunches seriously.”

Draco looked back down at the file. “I’m not qualified to apply for detective.”

“Draco. You’ve been an Auror for almost ten years, and we’ve worked on several detective-led cases. You’re plenty qualified.”

Draco flipped over the page of the report and scrawled his signature. “I wasn’t bringing it up because I want to be promoted, I was just _saying_ –”

“You’re always _just saying,_ is all _I’m_ saying. It doesn’t hurt to apply! Even if you don’t get it this time, then at least Robards would know you’re interested.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Because Robards knowing I’m interested would make _such_ a big difference, of course.”

“It might!”

“The man has admitted to _binning my reports,_ Harry–”

“I’m sure that was an accident,” Harry started, and then bit his lip. “Remember the look on his face when you asked if he’d lost mine?”

Draco couldn’t help but smile, remembering the shade of purple that Robards had turned. “I don’t even know why I bother with the paperwork,” he said. “He only reads yours anyway.”

“Because you’re a good Auror who isn’t going to make his partner do all the work,” Harry said, heading for the kitchen. “Do you have any crisps?”

Draco was glad Harry had dropped the subject. It felt like they had the same conversation every few weeks, and more and more lately it had been turning heated. Draco would bring up a legitimate complaint about their jobs, or the Ministry, or the general incompetence of almost everyone else they worked with, and Harry would get that challenging look in his eye and suggest Draco try something else. Apply for detective, that was one of his favorites. Sometimes he suggested Draco transfer to another department in the Ministry. A few weeks ago, Draco had been going on about the inefficiency of the Ministry’s layout when Harry got fed up and told him to “become a fucking architect, Draco, if it bothers you so much.”

But Draco was an Auror. He didn’t dislike his job. He went into training a year late, at nineteen, and everyone had bet he wouldn’t last the month – but twelve years later, he was still serving his country. _Take that,_ he thought, with only a little bitterness. He had fought his way tooth and nail through training and the first two years on the job, going through three partners before he was assigned to work with Harry. It had gotten easier since then – having the respect of the Chosen One went a long way towards making Draco more accepted among the Auror Corps – but applying to be a detective would mean leaving Harry behind as his partner. And Harry didn’t understand that Draco had only made it as far as he had with Harry by his side.

\---

Draco hated the moment after sex, when his partner rolled away and he was left to spell the sweat and other fluids off his body. No matter how hot he had been minutes before, he always felt cold after the cleaning charm swept over him. There was, of course, that awkward pause when the other man didn’t know how long he should lie next to Draco before he got up and started to put his clothes back on. It happened, always, at Draco’s flat.

The sex this time had been passable. It was Draco’s fifth date with Logan, and the third time they’d ended up in bed together. Draco had given Logan what he felt was a very competent blowjob, and received a lackluster wank once it was done. Now they lay an arm’s width apart, and Draco counted the minutes until Logan rolled away from him.

Less time than he’d thought. Draco watched from the corner of his eye as Logan redressed. Pants, trousers, shirt. It was a deep plum that clashed with his tan skin and dirty blonde hair. Because it would be polite, and because he didn’t want to be naked any longer, Draco went to his closet and put on a dressing gown.

In the sitting room, in front of the fireplace, Logan turned to face him.

“Listen, Draco,” he said, and Draco’s heart sank.

He’d heard it all before, and this time was no different.

“You’re great,” Logan said, looking at Draco’s forehead instead of meeting his eyes. “Really, you are, but I don’t think this is going to work out. I’m looking for something serious, and you’re married to your job. It’s the only thing you talk about – I just don’t think there’s a future for us.”

Draco didn’t point out that he had asked Harry to cover for him on a mission that night specifically so he could make this date, because everyone knew it was difficult to date as an Auror. At least Logan wasn’t about to ask Draco to set him up with his partner – something that had happened multiple times, although Draco had never told Harry about it – or at least, Logan hadn’t asked yet. He was still talking, arms folded across his broad chest.

“You’re a great bloke, though, and I’m sure a great Auror. I hope you don’t feel like I’ve led you on…”

And Draco said what he knew Logan wanted to hear, so he wouldn’t feel guilty and go complain to his mates about Draco being needy on top of fat.

“No hard feelings,” he said, and flashed the smile his mother had trained into him when he was eleven. “It was only a few dates, and you’re right, I’m too busy with work for anything serious right now.”

Logan’s shoulders loosened and he finally met Draco’s eyes. “No hard feelings,” he repeated. “I’m glad you understand.”

He had the nerve to kiss Draco before he stepped into the Floo, quick and sloppy. It reminded Draco that his mouth still tasted like come.

As soon as Logan was gone, Draco pulled up the wards and trudged back to his bedroom. The dressing gown – quilted black silk, a gift from Pansy – was traded out for pyjamas: striped cotton bottoms and a soft tee Harry had bought him in Cardiff. It had the red dragon on it and read _watch out, I bite,_ and the only size they’d had it in was too big even for Draco. But he liked how it fit, and he liked that Harry had been thinking of him in Wales.

He settled into bed and Summoned his work carryall. He hadn’t been planning on doing any work that night, but it wasn’t too late yet, and he wanted the distraction. He piled all the pillows behind himself so he could sit comfortably – it wasn’t as though anyone else needed them, after all – and opened up his notes on the Wings case.

\---

It was easier to go to work on Monday when he knew there would be a hot mug of rooibos (two sugars) waiting on his desk when he arrived. Harry was a little bit shit at warming charms, so the ceramic was always hot to the touch, but the tea would be piping. Usually Draco took his time, savouring the tea until the remainder went cold, at which point he’d go to the kitchen and make a second cup for both himself and Harry (PG Tips and too much milk).

Today, he drained half the cup in one go, and only then took off his heavy outer robes to hang them up. Harry always wore a jumper and jeans under his; Draco favoured trousers and a nice shirt, and wore the same five in rotation every week.

When he finished arranging his robes on the coat rack and turned around, his partner was watching him, eyebrows raised.

“Rough morning?” Harry propped his chin on his hand as he watched Draco.

“Rough weekend,” Draco corrected, slumping into his chair. Normally he kept his posture impeccable, but it didn’t matter if Harry saw. “Things are over with Logan.”

He always phrased things like that – ‘it’s over,’ not ‘he broke up with me’ – and he wondered if Harry noticed.

“I’m sorry, Draco.” Harry came over and wrapped an arm around Draco’s shoulders, squeezing him in. His torso was taut and muscular against Draco’s head.

Harry would have been able to get any witch or wizard he fancied, but he rarely dated. Nothing serious, at least – his relationships were always short, their ends mutual and amicable. Harry, unlike Draco, had never been stood up for a six-month anniversary date at the hottest restaurant in Diagon Alley.

“It’s fine,” Draco said, wrapping an arm around Harry’s back and returning the hug before he stood up, pushing Harry out of his space. “He was a bit of a tosser, anyway.”

“Right.” Harry sat on the edge of Draco’s desk. “So, the raid at Mandalyn’s was a bust. The storeroom was completely empty, couldn’t get anything out of any of the bartenders. We found one kid in a coma; his parents checked him out of Mungo’s yesterday morning, and won’t update us on his condition at all.” At Draco’s incredulous look, Harry shrugged. “They’re pure-bloods.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course they are. How old was the victim?”

“Seventeen, eighteen maybe?”

“Really?”

“Or else a really small twenty-year-old.”

“I believe you, but that’s so much younger than we’ve seen before.”

“I know. There’s still no pattern to it. Tanaka and Simmons are hosting a debrief meeting this morning.”

Draco rolled his eyes again. “Oh joy of joys. And here I thought I hated Mondays.”

Matthew Simmons and Felicity Tanaka were the Auror Detectives who were overseeing the Wings case. Because Draco and Harry had been put on it almost full time, they were currently being supervised by the detectives as well. Simmons had been in the training class above Harry’s and was infamous in the DMLE for being a pain in the arse to work with. Tanaka had only transferred from MACUSA the year before, but there was already a rumour going around that she’d gotten a Trainee fired. Draco wasn’t hugely fond of either of them.

“This is the third time this has happened,” Draco said. “That we show up someplace we know it’s being sold, and they’ve cleared everything out. They have to have a workshop somewhere else. Making a potion that complicated isn’t a portable process.”

“I know.” Harry’s response was quiet, and Draco knew they were thinking the same thing: someone inside the DMLE was warning the Enkeli that they were coming.

\---

“I thought Tanaka was going to strangle someone.” Susan poked the ice at the bottom of her glass with her straw. “Opal, most likely, when she dared to say what all of us were thinking.”

Opal rolled her eyes and the others laughed. Under a privacy charm in the corner of a Muggle pub, it was safe to discuss topics that were taboo inside the Ministry. Tonight, the others were bringing Draco up to speed on the Saturday evening raid he’d missed for the shitty date with Logan.

“What did you say?” Draco asked, trying to put Logan out of his mind. He hadn’t been particularly interested in him, really, and would rather be here anyway – vinegar-soaked chips in the center of the table, cold cider in his glass, and Harry squished into the booth next to him.

“What everyone was thinking – that they knew we were coming and it was a waste of a Saturday night.”

Dean raised his pint. “I’ll toast to that.”

“I swear I don’t know how you two deal with both her _and_ Simmons,” Opal said, sipping her drink.

Harry shut his eyes and rubbed his temples. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”

Draco laughed and knocked their shoulders together. “At least you’ve got Robards on your side,” he said.

Dean laughed. “That’s true, Harry. Robards loves you.”

“And Simmons has got his head too far up his own arse to be paying attention to anyone,” Susan added.

“And Tanaka hates everyone. So of all of us, you’ve got the best set-up, Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but he leaned into Draco a little more, and Draco knew that he was worrying that their teasing came from a place of jealousy for his status as the Chosen One, which still followed him more than a decade after the war. Draco squeezed Harry’s knee under the table and changed the subject to Simmons’s ham-handed pursuit of one of the Junior Aurors, flushing when Harry caught his eye and gave him a grateful smile.

Within the hour the others had wandered off, Dean going home to Seamus and Opal and Susan heading off the the house they shared with two Healers and a witch who was doing her dissertation on the ethical implications of necromancy. Draco didn’t feel like going home to rattle around his empty flat, so he was pleased when Harry grabbed his arm.

“Do you want to come eat at mine?” he asked. “Molly gave me a whole casserole to take home when I was at the Burrow yesterday, I’ll never finish it by myself.”

Draco grinned. “Of course.”

Within minutes of going through the Floo, Harry had plated and warmed two slices of lasagna, and they were sat at the well-loved wooden table in the corner of his kitchen, inhaling pasta in between sips of beer.

Harry offered Draco a second piece, but he declined; when Harry came back to the table after serving himself, he kicked Draco’s foot.

Draco glared without malice. “What?”

“You haven’t actually told me what happened with Logan, you berk.” Harry smiled. “I know you want to talk about it.”

“It’s really fine.” Draco leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out past Harry’s. “He said he was looking for something serious, and I’m married to my job.”

Harry raised his eyebrows and continued shoveling lasagna into his mouth. “Married to your job?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “He was probably worried I wouldn’t have enough time for him, or something.” He sighed. “It’s not like I really thought it was going anywhere. He was too...you know.”

“Too...I know?” Harry’s eyes were sparkling.

“Aggressively hip, or what have you. And he had absolutely no sense of colour.”

“Draco, you’re wearing two different shades of grey.”

Draco was, in fact, wearing dark grey trousers and a light grey shirt, but he didn’t need Harry to point it out. “That may be true, but I could incorporate the appropriate colours if I wanted to. This is an aesthetic choice befitting my serious job as an Auror.”

“Oh is it?” Harry snorted. “Are you sure it’s not just Lucius Lite?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Your dad, he always used to do the all-black thing. Now you’re doing the all-grey thing. Lucius Lite.”

It was so ridiculous that Draco had to laugh. “This is _one outfit,_ Harry. This isn’t a lifestyle choice!”

Harry shrugged. “You know what I’m going to say anyway, Draco. You’re a catch, and anyone who can’t see that is an idiot.”

Draco flushed and looked down at his empty plate. He wished Harry wouldn’t say things like that. Harry’d made it clear a few times that he thought Draco was fit – _why,_ Draco couldn’t help but wonder – and there’d been a few times when emotions were running high and Harry had made it clear that Draco would be welcome in his bed. But Draco always said no.

It was probably stupid of him. Harry was dead attractive, and Draco’d always been aware of it. But the friendship they’d developed over the past seven years had become one of the most important things in his world. He wanted a proper relationship, wanted to settle down and share his life with someone, and he wanted to maintain his friendship with Harry. A quick shag with Harry would only complicate both of those things.

“I think Logan was an idiot, so that makes sense,” he said. He didn’t want to acknowledge the feeling behind Harry’s words.

Harry pushed his chair away from the table and went to the sink, Summoning their dishes as he did so.

“Do you want any pudding?”

“Thanks, but I should really be getting home,” Draco said, trying to smooth the wrinkles out of his shirt as he stood. It was a bit hopeless, but it was only Harry who would see it anyway. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Harry watched him as he left, hands submerged in soapy water, eyes gone strangely soft.

“See you then.”

\---

Days that started with Felicity Tanaka, Gawain Robards, and Matt Simmons in the same room as Draco were not, as a rule, good days. They were all in one of the conference rooms, and the climate charm must have been off, because it was uncomfortably warm, but no one else had said anything about it. Tanaka had spelled her hair into a tight bun at the beginning of the meeting, but Draco suspected that was more of a power move than anything else.

“The raid on Saturday.” Robards opened his padfolio. The cover _thwapped_ loudly as it hit the tabletop. “Did not go according to plan.”

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but a muffled snort from Harry beside him warned him that he may not have succeeded.

Robards frowned at him. “I’m also curious as to why one of the lead team of Aurors was missing from the mission?”

“Malfoy was feeling ill, sir,” Simmons explained, “and Potter felt comfortable covering for him, so Felicity and I decided he could stay home.”

Tanaka shot him a dirty look, which Robards pretended not to notice. Simmons was a huge tosser and everyone knew it, but most put up with him because he was damn good at his job.

“Have we learned anything new about the group that’s behind all of this?” Robards asked, tapping his quill on the table.

“The Enkeli, sir,” Harry said, opening up his own notes. “We suspect there are three to five of them at the center of the plot, based on victim reports. There’s one witch who multiple victims have reported seeing – she’s tall and wears an ornate copper bracelet. It’s unknown as of yet if the Enkeli brew the potion themselves or if they only distribute it, but–”

“How many of them there are doesn’t matter,” Tanaka interrupted. “We need to focus on figuring out how the potion is brewed, so we can better heal the victims. We found another one in a coma on Saturday – that’s unacceptable.”

Draco nodded. Every time they’d found an abandoned distribution location, there’d been at least one victim left behind. When the potion was administered orally, it naturally wore off, but the Enkeli had also been administering it intravenously, like a Muggle drug. It made the hallucinations caused by the potion last longer, which also made it more likely they would switch from pleasant dreams to nightmares. If the victims weren’t safely removed from the potion source, they could end up falling into a coma and getting lost in their own minds.

“But how are we going to figure out what the potion is made up of if we never find the–”

Robards’s assistant knocked on the doorframe and stuck her head into the room. “Sir, a private Floo call in your office.” 

In past meetings, Draco had seen Robards put off a summons from the Minister because he wanted to conclude with business first. He took the time he set aside for his Aurors seriously, because he had so many other commitments, which was something Draco grudgingly admired about him. So he was surprised when Robards immediately closed his padfolio and stood up.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” he said. “Felicity, if you could lead the rest of the meeting, please?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Have we made any progress on a way to get a sample of the potion?” Harry asked. He nodded to Draco. “Malfoy makes a good point, if we want to properly treat the victims–”

“Auror Potter, I appreciate your concern, but I can assure you that Simmons and I have a plan in the works. You and Auror Malfoy will be informed of your part in it once the details are finalised. In the meantime, you are dismissed.”

She swept towards the door, and Simmons ambled out after her, leaving Draco and Harry alone at the conference table, case notes spread out before them.

“Well,” Harry ventured, “that was...odd.”

Draco nodded. “Definitely.”

“I guess we can go over the rest of the debriefing from Saturday in our office.” Harry began to gather his own papers. “Do you want a cup of tea?”

\---

“Do you want a beer?” Draco called into the living room. His paperwork was stowed back in his work bag, Thursday evening case work having ended early so they could listen to the Quidditch match on the wireless.

“Please,” Harry called back, and Draco opened two bottles before joining him.

Harry was sitting against the arm of the sofa, his legs crossed in front of him. As soon as Draco sat down on the other end of the sofa, Harry unfolded his legs and threw them across Draco’s lap.

This had been happening more and more the last year or so, this kind of casual physical affection that had never been a part of their friendship before. They’d been growing closer for years, of course – more than ten years of animosity and disagreement had taken some time to get over – and Draco felt quite content with where they were at. They worked great together, and Harry was one of his best friends – what more could he want?

The first time Harry had rested his head on Draco’s shoulder while they watched a film in Harry’s living room, Draco had given him such a questioning look that Harry had sat up and leaned away from him. 

“What?” Harry had asked.

“You’re leaning on me,” Draco had said.

“You’re comfy,” Harry explained. He paused. “Do you mind?”

Draco had shaken his head no and Harry had resumed his position. Of course Harry thought he was _comfy._ Harry’s own lithe form could hardly be called comfy in the same way as Draco’s.

The next few times it happened, Draco had continued to ask, and gotten similar responses from Harry. Then he’d stopped asking and accepted it.

Two weeks ago at pub night was the first time Harry’d done it in company. He’d thrown an arm over Draco’s shoulders when he got back from the loo and left it there, and no one had batted an eye while Draco had sat silently and contemplated the exact shade of red his face had gone.

“Gin said she’s trying out a new maneuver during the match tonight,” Harry said, taking a sip of his beer. Draco didn’t admire the way his throat moved when he swallowed. “It sounded brilliant, I wish we could see it in person.”

“I’m sure it’ll make an appearance at one of their home games soon,” Draco said.

He was cut off by the swell of cheering that filled the room as the teams flew onto the field. After a quick recap of both teams’ seasons so far, the match commentary began.

As always, Harry’s reactions started off small – rolled eyes when they mentioned Ginny being his ex, a scoff at a questionable call – but soon he was talking over the radio and cursing the other team creatively. The match was a quick one, with Ginny’s new maneuver surprising the other team and allowing her Seeker to snatch the Snitch. 

By the time Harry spelled the radio off, he’d finished his drink and slumped back farther into the sofa, even more of his legs resting across Draco’s lap. Draco took a last sip before he Vanished his empty bottle.

“We should go see a match sometime,” Harry said.

“We go to matches all the time,” Draco said. “I don’t know why you and all of the Weasleys have your own season tickets, you always end up with extras.”

“No, I mean – just the two of us. Maybe get dinner afterwards.”

“Why are we planning this now? We did that two weeks ago.”

Harry huffed out a breath and pulled himself up, lifting his legs off Draco’s lap as he did so.

“Does that mean you don’t want to?”

Draco frowned. “No, I’m happy to go to a match with you. I’m just wondering why you want to plan so far ahead.”

“I just wanted to spend some time with you. Just the two of us.”

“Like we’re doing right now?” Draco smiled.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. It made his shirt pull up a bit, revealing his trim stomach. Draco wrapped his arms around his own belly, redirecting his gaze to the coffee table.

“Merlin,” Harry said. “Sometimes it’s like you’re being deliberately obtuse.”

Draco turned a sharp gaze on Harry and found him closer than he expected. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, but Harry didn’t reply.

Instead, he reached for Draco’s hand, pulling it away from his stomach and holding it in both of his own. The tips of Harry’s fingers tickled as he trailed them down Draco’s palm.

“It’s like you don’t notice when I’m trying to get you alone,” he said, but Draco was barely paying attention. He’d never known his hands could be so sensitive, and suppressed a shiver as Harry’s fingers ventured up to his wrist and back down again.

“What?” Draco asked. He was embarrassingly short of breath.

“Draco.” Harry’s voice had gone low and syrupy, and suddenly his forehead was against Draco’s, although he couldn’t remember when Harry’d moved that close. “Can I kiss you?”

The words were barely a whisper. All Draco could feel was Harry’s breath across his lips, and he leaned into it on instinct, the faintest touch of his mouth against Harry’s before the words sunk in.

He pulled back. Harry’s nose was in the middle of his field of vision. His glasses sat high up, just above a little bump, but the rest of his nose was straight. Draco could see the irritated red crescents that rested below the nose pads.

“What?” he said again.

Harry’s eyes were wary but warm. “Can I kiss you?”

“Harry, we...we can’t. We work together.”

“But do you want to?” Harry asked.

His hand was still around Draco’s. Harry’s hands were strong and sure, just like him; powerful and perfect, his light brown skin marred only by raised scar tissue. Draco’s fingers were too thick, his skin too pale to disguise the dusting of hair on his knuckles. His palms were probably sweating already.

Draco pulled his hand away. “Why would you even ask me that?”

“I thought that was obvious,” Harry said. His hands were clenched now, the tendons in his forearms standing out. “I thought you felt the same. But I guess I was wrong.”

“Harry…”

“How many times do I have to try and show you, Draco? Last Valentine’s I invited you over to mine and cooked for you and you showed up in jeans and toasted to being ‘forever single.’ I got tickets to that concert you wanted to see and you cancelled on me last minute, I pulled strings to get us a reservation at that new restaurant you’d been going on about for weeks and you _brought Pansy and Greg_ –”

“Was that– that was supposed to be a date?” Draco spluttered. Harry only looked at him.

Draco wasn’t blind – he knew Harry was fit. For some reason Harry seemed to find him attractive, too. But they worked together, and entering into a relationship based on something as trivial as mutual attraction could mess up their friendship _and_ their partnership. That’s the last thing Draco would want to do, so why was Harry willing to risk it?

“I understand that you’re attracted to me,” he said finally, although he didn’t, “but we work so well together. I don’t think it’s worth risking that for a – a quick shag.”

Harry was watching him with an expression Draco privately called his Saviour look. It had been slightly off-putting when they were younger, but he’d grown into it beautifully. Face impassive, eyes alight; his thoughts ran on ahead while he held you in his gaze, while you were frozen by the sheer force of this man. Sometimes, when they were working on a case and Harry looked like this, Draco could guess what he was thinking; it thrilled something young in him, to feel like he was in the know with Harry Potter. Right now, though, Draco couldn’t begin to guess at Harry’s thoughts.

“I guess you’re right.” Harry’s voice was low and deep and somehow hollow. “It’s not worth risking all that for a quick shag.”

Harry leaned away from Draco, back into the cushions of the sofa, and Draco followed suit. The air between them was charged and tense in a way it hadn’t been since those first few months of working together – Draco hadn’t realized how comfortable Harry’s presence had become to him.

He opened his mouth to offer another drink, a bit of pudding – something, anything to cut through the awkwardness that hung in the air – but Harry was on his feet before he could get the words out.

“It’s getting late, and we’ve got a long day tomorrow. I should get going.”

Draco rose to his feet as Harry walked towards the door. “Are you sure? I could make a pot of tea, if you wanted.”

“I’m pretty tired.” Harry’s coat was thrown over his arm, his bag in hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow though, yeah?”

“See you tomorrow,” Draco said. The door closed behind Harry with a _thump._

Draco shook his head. Why was Harry acting like he was angry when Draco was only trying to preserve their friendship? They’d say it wouldn’t change anything, that it was a bit of fun – and it _would_ be fun, Draco thought, thinking of Harry stripping out of his shirt after training duels – but of course it would make things awkward between them. He’d had too many relationships, even ones that were meant to be casual, that ended in confusion and hurt feelings – usually Draco’s. He didn’t want to see the expression on Harry’s face when he told Draco that he wasn’t interested anymore.

With an irritated flick of his wand, Draco raised the wards, then sent their empty dishes zooming towards the kitchen sink. He’d deal with them in the morning.

\---

Draco woke Friday morning with a crick in his neck and a faint headache. He’d spent another half hour reviewing the case files after Harry left the night before, and dreamt that he was trying to get to Harry across the crowded floor of one of the dance clubs where Wings was distributed. It was a distorted memory of a stakeout they’d gone on a few weeks ago – in reality, he’d been able to get to Harry quickly, other dancers moving out of the way of his fit Polyjuiced form. In the dream, Draco had been himself, and no one would let him pass; every time he fought his way through a knot of people and looked up, Harry was even farther away.

A hot shower relaxed his muscles, but he still wanted to crawl back under the covers and sleep for another two hours. He put on his usual Friday outfit, barely glancing in the mirror to check his ill-fitting trousers and too-expensive jumper, and took the Floo to work.

The first sign that something was off came when Draco walked into their office and found it empty. Harry’d clearly been there – his cloak was thrown over the back of his chair and the files he’d brought to Draco’s flat last night were sitting on top of his desk – but he himself had disappeared.

Draco thought little of it until he shrugged off his own cloak and instinctively reached for a mug of tea that wasn’t there.

He left their office and found Harry in the Auror Department’s cramped kitchen, standing at the counter as he sipped a mug of tea. Draco’s usual mug sat a few feet away from him, empty.

Harry started when Draco closed the door behind him. “Morning.”

“Good morning, Harry.” Draco flipped on the kettle and went to put a tea bag in his mug, only to find there was already one in it. He glanced sideways at Harry, but his partner was staring into his own drink as though the meaning of life could be found in the bitter liquid.

The kettle came to a boil and Draco poured his water, adding two small spoonfuls of sugar and stirring before he cast a cleaning charm at the spoon and put it back in the drawer.

“Did you have a good night?” Draco asked, determined to put the awkwardness of the previous day behind them.

“Fine.”

“Any strange dreams?” Draco didn’t know why he was still talking. “I had this one, it was like that stakeout we did, except, anyway…” He trailed off. Harry wasn’t looking at him, and Draco didn’t want to reveal the true strangeness of the dream.

“Look, Draco–”

The door banged open and Dean followed Susan into the room. She was carrying a large dish of pastries, while Dean held a pile of paper plates and napkins.

“Morning, Harry, Draco!” she called, setting the dish on the fake wood-topped table. “Fancy a pastry? Hannah’s been experimenting with new recipes and Neville begged me to get these out of their house.”

“None for me, thanks Susan,” Harry said.

“You like danishes, right, Draco? There’s a new apricot one you have to try.”

By the time Draco exchanged pleasantries with Dean and let Susan serve him a danish, Harry had slipped out of the kitchen. Draco walked back to their office with dread settling in his stomach. His appetite was gone and his legs felt trembly anticipating what Harry had been about to say before they’d been interrupted.

Harry was sitting at his desk, scribbling away. Draco dropped the uneaten danish on the table and sat. He’d forgotten his tea in the kitchen. He didn’t want it anyway.

He opened the case files he’d finished last night and started to review them but had only made it through two pages before Harry spoke.

“Look.” Harry drummed his fingers on the desk twice and then clenched his fist. “We need to talk.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Are you breaking up with me?” he joked. Harry winced and looked away, and Draco sank back into his desk chair, feeling ill.

Harry spelled the door shut and Draco’s feeling of dread increased.

“Harry,” he began, but Harry shook his head and Draco fell silent.

“I have to tell you something,” Harry said, and he still wouldn’t meet Draco’s eyes. “After the Wings case is done, I’m asking Robards to reassign me.”

Draco put a hand on the desk to steady himself. “What?”

“I’m going to ask Robards for a new partner, Draco.”

“But – why on earth? Harry, we’re great as partners! We’re the top of the department!”

“Draco, it’s not that I don’t want to be your partner anymore!” Harry took a deep breath. “Look. I think we both know that I’m interested in being more than partners. You’re not, and you’ve made that clear. I respect your decision, but I just can’t…” He trailed off, looking down at his hands. “I need to get over this. And I can’t do that if I have to work next to you every day.”

Draco felt like he’d been punched in the gut, brutal and winding. “Is this about last night?”

Harry shook his head. “No. Yes. It’s been a lot of things, Draco–”

“Because like I said, it’s not, it’s not that I’m not _interested._ ” He sucked in a breath, reminding himself of the reason he and Harry couldn’t get involved: Draco didn’t want to lose him as a friend. “I just don’t want to risk our friendship, I mean, these things always turn messy…”

“Draco, it’s fine, I get it. And it’s not you, alright? You’re...amazing. A great partner.” It seemed like Harry wanted to say more, but he didn’t. “I’ll ask Robards if he can make it a temporary switch – I just need a little break, alright? Or maybe you could apply for detective, after this case is done–”

“Don’t,” Draco said. “Don’t try and spin it like you’re doing this as some kind of favour to me, alright?”

“I’m not–”

“Maybe I could apply for detective? I’ve _told_ you why that’s not going to happen, you don’t need to request a new partner just so–”

A knock on the door got both of their attention. Robards stuck his head in.

“Harry? I’m done with that call now, if you want to come by my office.”

“I’ll be there in a moment, Gawain.”

“Alright, Harry.” He nodded at Draco. “Auror Malfoy.”

“Auror Robards.”

After Harry left Draco ate the danish. It was papery and tasteless on his tongue.

\---

Draco couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy to get to work on Monday. He’d skipped their usual Friday pub night, feigning illness, and ordered Italian takeaway instead. Visiting with Pansy on Saturday had been nice, but his Sunday afternoon had felt empty and bland without Harry ‘stopping by’ to make sure they were both caught up on work and ready for the week.

He’d been holding on to a vain hope that when he walked into his and Harry’s office on Monday everything would be back to normal, no more empty silences between them or talk of Harry not wanting to be his partner anymore. But just like on Friday, Harry’d not made him any tea, and didn’t even ask him how his weekend had been. When Draco went to the kitchen for his second cup of tea, he offered to make Harry one, and Harry said that he wasn’t thirsty, which had to be a lie – he’d never known Harry to turn down tea, especially if someone else was making it. Tuesday went much the same, and by Wednesday Draco was ready to throw himself at Harry’s feet and do – something. He wanted desperately to put things back the way they had been. He wished the conversation after the Quidditch match had never happened.

“Tanaka wants us to lead a briefing on the Wings case tomorrow morning.”

Harry’s voice surprised Draco. He looked up to see his partner reading a memo.

“Why?”

“They’re planning a mission. Robards’s orders – more teams are being brought on. She and Simmons will be explaining the plan, but she’d like us to give everyone some background first.”

Draco nodded. They’d had similar assignments before. “Do you want to come over for dinner, then?” he asked. “We can plan out what we’ll be saying?”

A week ago he wouldn’t have even had to ask; it would have been taken for granted that they’d be working that evening to make their briefing the best it could be. But he wasn’t surprised when Harry shook his head.

“I think I’d rather stay in tonight, thanks. Why don’t you take the section on how the potion works, and I’ll cover what we know of the distributors?”

Harry was looking at Draco, but wouldn’t meet his eyes. Every time Draco tried to make eye contact, Harry’s gaze darted away, as though the maps on the wall behind Draco’s head, which had hung there all five years they’d occupied this office, were suddenly fascinating.

“That’s fine,” Draco said. Harry’s shoulders relaxed as soon as he looked back down to his desk. “What time will the meeting be?”

“At nine.”

\---

Draco had never liked Thursdays. To most people, Wednesday was the worst part of the week, that lonely midpoint when the weekend still seemed out of sight. But Draco didn’t really mind Wednesdays; there had always been something good about Wednesdays, even if it was just his favourite pudding appearing on that day at Hogwarts.

Thursdays, though, Draco loathed, which had been the genesis of Thursday night report writing with Harry. But this Thursday was really taking the cake as the worst Thursday ever.

It turned out, the mission Robards was planning was a raid of one of the clubs where they were almost sure Wings was still being sold. He and Harry were meant to pose as interested buyers, then lead the two other teams of Aurors – Tanaka and Simmons, as well as Susan and her partner Richard – to the sellers in the hope of finally arresting someone connected to the Enkeli.

Draco fiddled with the hem of his shirt. The Auror Detectives had instructed them to use Glamours rather than Polyjuice, so Draco’s body was his own. He didn’t like how exposed he felt in nothing but a linen shirt and trousers. He didn’t like the way Harry looked blurred, Draco’s eyes not able to reconcile the Glamour they were seeing with the face they knew should be there. He’d give a lot to be sitting with Harry in his flat, reading reports and arguing over takeaway, instead of sat on the ground in a club called Opium with a partner who wasn’t speaking to him.

Harry was bopping slightly to the music, although it wasn’t music one would usually bop to, and sipping at the drink he’d wandlessly Transfigured into water. He looked at home against the rich purples of the walls and the gaudy metallic furnishings, more at home than Draco, even though his clothes were more casual. The only hint that he wasn’t there for an evening out was the tapping of his fingers against their ridiculously low table.

They were meant to look like they were a couple having a night out. What did the Muggles around them think, Draco wondered. Were they even looking? Did they wonder what Harry, fit and trim and handsome, was doing with him?

It was hard enough for Draco to believe that Harry was attracted to him physically; he could hardly expect anyone else to suspend their disbelief that far.

Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he watched as a tall woman crouched to enter the room. She wore long sleeves, all black, but as she lifted a hand to to run it through her hair, the cuff of her shirt fell open. A copper bracelet shimmered on her wrist, and with a quick vision spell, Draco could see that it was intricately decorated, with tiny gemstones sparkling on the surface.

“Harry,” he murmured, touching his elbow. “The woman who just came into the room.”

Harry didn’t make an immediate move, but Draco knew he’d heard by the subtle straightening of his spine, the way his gaze went from vague to focused. He took a sip of his drink, tracking the woman in his peripherals as she greeted a table of two – no, three – others.

Next to him, Harry sucked in a breath.

“It’s them.”

“She’s got the bracelet.” Draco’s voice was barely a whisper but he knew Harry could hear him.

Harry leaned towards Draco, speaking into his ear – to an observer it would look like they were together. Draco’s heart clenched. This was the closest Harry had been to him in a week.

“Split up and track them?” Harry’s breath ghosted across his cheek.

“Robards wanted us to make contact.” Personally, Draco thought it was stupid; if they’d learned anything about the group that distributed Wings, it was that they could only be found if they wanted to be. They selected who they wanted their customers to be, and would likely deny any connection to the potion when approached by strangers. It would have been a better use of their time to try and track down a store room, or one of the hidden chambers where the potion was administered – they never allowed buyers to bring it home with them.

With a reluctant sigh – he knew just as well as Draco that trying to talk to the Enkeli was pointless – Harry stood and held out a hand to Draco. He pulled Draco to his feet and then in to his side, settling a hand around his waist, and Draco understood the angle he was going for.

He could play along.

Harry lead him to the other table, his arm warm against Draco’s back even through both of their shirts. When they stopped in front of the table, all four occupants looked up. Draco catalogued their faces, knowing this memory might be used in a trial later.

The only man at the table addressed them first, his voice lightly accented. “Gentlemen, are you lost?” He laughed at his own joke, but the faces of all the women remained impassive.

Harry ran a hand up Draco’s side and then back down, pulling him even closer. He knew what Harry wanted him to do, and he loathed it; his last ex before Logan had wanted Draco to be like that, to simper and hang off of him or not be seen with him in public. To have Harry treating him the same, even for the sake of a case, made the back of his throat ache, but he swallowed down the bile and leaned into Harry, let the weight of his body press against his partner’s slim frame and tried not to hate himself for it.

“That depends,” Harry said, breaking out the roguish grin the old department secretary used to swoon over. “Do you know where we might be able to get a hold of some Wings?”

All three women froze. Draco had to resist the urge to do the same. Harry continued on as if he hadn’t noticed, though his fingers tightened against Draco’s hip.

“It’s Michael’s birthday, and I really wanted to make it special.”

Draco tried to assume the facial expression of a man who’s idea of a special birthday celebration would be recreational drug use.

Still no one at the table had responded, and Harry continued on.

“I’m willing to pay double.”

This, finally, garnered a response; the man flit his eyes towards the tall woman, and she nodded, very slightly. He stood smoothly and rounded the table towards them.

“If you’ll follow me.”

A discrete Notice-Me-Not charm settled on their shoulders as they followed him farther into the bar. The next room was a riot of deep reds and garish pinks, with scuffed gold zig-zags painted across the floor. He swung left and lead them between two tables, into what was at first glance an alcove, at second a hidden door.

He held it open and let them enter ahead of him. As they did, Harry cast the silent alert spell that would prompt the other two teams of Aurors to follow them.

The man locked the door behind them and led them down a narrow hallway that ran parallel to the bar. The noise of the bar was muffled, but not removed; Draco could still hear the vaguely hypnotic music and the murmur of conversation. The passageway let out into a small room, still opulently decorated but more worn. The carpet, once a deep green, was in need of replacement or at least a good wash, and the upholstery on the chairs was threadbare at the center.

They were gestured to sit down, and did; the strange man stood over them, hands resting on the table.

“Have either of you bought from us before?”

Draco let Harry take the lead, both because it seemed in character for Michael, and because he was peeved they’d gotten into this situation.

“No,” Harry said. His posture was deceptively casual. “We heard this was the place to come, though.”

They were mostly sure this was still a distribution location; the presence of Enkeli was a point in favor, but Draco was beginning to feel uneasy. This back hallway shouldn’t have been as quiet as it was; he shouldn’t still have been able to hear the noise of the patrons from the bar. Why was this abandoned?

“Mmm.” The man’s lips looked like they wanted to curl into a sneer, but he redirected the expression to a smile. “And you said you’ll pay double? We don’t sell this potion to just anyone…”

He reached behind him to take a money box off a shelf, while Harry looked down to extract their Ministry-issued money bag from his pocket. Harry didn’t see the strange motion the Enkeli man made as he picked up the box – it looked like he was flipping a switch – and Draco reached for Harry’s wrist, squeezing hard, as two of the women from the table Apparated into the room, flanking the first man.

The tall witch stepped forward. “I wonder how two such...refined gentlemen found yourselves in such a seedy part of town? We’re in a Muggle bar, and you two are so obviously wizards.”

Their wands flew out of their arm holsters and into her hands. A nonverbal _Expelliarmus._ Clever.

“We don’t mean any harm,” Harry said. “We only wanted to try–”

“Oh, drop the act,” the shorter woman said. “We know you’re not really here to buy the potion.”

Draco could feel his pulse thudding in his jaw. One of the back-up teams should have been there by now; where–

“Department of Magical Law Enforcement!”

The twin shouts came from Richard and Susan as they burst into the room, wands raised and poised for attack. Harry and Draco had been sitting with their backs to the door (stupid, _stupid_ ) and their captors knew what was happening before they did. Before he could get away, Draco was pulled from the chair and forced to his knees. He felt a foot against his back and surmised that his captor was the short, impatient witch. From the corner of his eye, he could see Harry struggling against the wizard, trying to get free of his hold. The taller witch – the leader, Draco guessed – stood dispassionately a few feet away, stroking their stolen wands.

She sighed, long-winded and dramatic. “Oh, they’ve sent the big bad Aurors after me. I’m so frightened.”

“Drop your wands!” shouted Richard. He was two years out of training now but was still so impulsive.

“You’re outnumbered,” the woman said. “So I think I won’t.” She turned and walked towards the dark curtain at the end of the room, stopped to toss a smile over her shoulder. “I could snap them, if you’d prefer?”

Harry thrashed at that, the man behind him tightening his hold on his neck. He had a wand pointed at Harry’s head, and Draco could feel his captor’s wand tip against the nape of his neck. Richard and Susan couldn’t strike for fear of retaliation against Harry and Draco; the Enkeli couldn’t act because the Aurors would arrest them in an instant. They were all frozen in tableau as the leader turned Harry and Draco’s wands over in her hands and regarded them all.

Draco spared a moment of thought for how idiotic Robards was to have thought this would work, then closed his eyes and focused on his magic. Wandless magic didn’t come easily for him the way it did for Harry, but his meditation practice had strengthened his skills. He pulled at the magic in his core and reached out to his wand, urging it to come back to him, where it belonged.

“Is that a no on the snapping, then?” the leader was saying when her whole being tensed as Draco’s wand leapt out of her hand and back to him. It wasn’t the most subtle maneuver, but it got the job done. As soon as the wood hit his palm he was disarming his captor and rolling away.

The leader yelled and cast a curse at Draco. He dodged, casting a counter, and before he knew it they were dueling, the other Aurors joining in as the two Enkeli rounded the table for their attack.

Curses were flying, some Draco didn’t even recognise, as he shot and dodged. Behind the chair, Harry had shaken his captor off and they were fighting hand-to-hand, ducking and swinging as the duel continued. A vibrant blue spell grazed Draco’s ear and upset his balance, and by the time he’d righted himself and cast a jink in retaliation, Harry was gone.

Wait.

“He’s gone!”

Harry was nowhere to be seen, nor was the man he’d been fighting. It was a small room with the only door at Draco’s back.

“He’s _gone!_ ” Draco shouted again, and this time Susan heard him, her eyes widening as she realized.

“Where did they–”

A sharp _crack, crack_ as the two women Apparated away, leaving the three Aurors alone in the room.

“They took Harry!” Draco yelled, pacing around the small table.

“Are you sure they didn’t–”

“He was right there, I saw, fighting with that man, and then when I looked back he was gone.”

The door blasted open and revealed Simmons lowering his wand. Tanaka pushed past him into the room.

“What happened? Where are they?” she asked, circling to look at all of them.

“Harry’s gone,” Draco said.

Tanaka gaped at him.

Susan muttered a spell that caused lines to glow momentarily on the walls. “Limited Anti-Apparition wards,” she explained. “You can’t Apparate in – we tried, before we found the door – and you can only Apparate out to certain locations.”

“That bastard must have Side-Alonged him,” Draco said.

“Is there any way from the spells to find out where they can Apparate to?” Simmons asked.

Susan sighed and cast more diagnostics. “Not that I can do now,” she said. “Maybe an Unspeakable would be able to, but…”

She trailed off. Robards had gotten into a disagreement recently with MacArthur, the lead Unspeakable, and it had become near impossible to get approval to work with one regardless of the case.

“So he’s just gone,” Draco said. “They just took him.”

Susan winced. “It looks like.”

“Did you find anything out about the Enkeli?” Tanaka rounded on him. “Anything we can report back to Robards?”

Draco scowled. “No, and frankly right now I’m more concerned about the fact that _they’ve taken Harry._ We need to tell Robards!”

“We should go back to the office and Floo him,” Susan said. “If we can get a team back here soon enough, we’ll be able to trace him.”

Draco nodded, spinning to face Tanaka. “We’ve got to get back,” he said. “Can you let us in?”

Her face went through a complicated twist of emotions that Draco couldn’t translate before she lifted her hands, placating. “You’ve all had a long night,” she said. “We don’t all need to go back to the office. Matt and I can handle this – you can go home.”

Draco clenched his fist. “Harry’s my partner,” he said, “and I’m not tired. I’m coming with you.”

Tanaka pursed her lips. Her gaze roamed over Susan and Richard behind him before landing back on Draco. “As the detectives on this case, it is our responsibility to contact the Head Auror. We’ll call if we need you, but we don’t all need to be disturbing Robards at home.”

Draco didn’t like the look in her eyes, but with everyone watching, he had little choice but to follow when Susan grabbed his arm and tugged him towards the door.

\---

“Auror Malfoy, that’s an order. No rescue mission will be launched without the approval of the Minister.”

Draco dug his nails into his palm and tried to speak calmly. It had been a long morning. He’d expected to come into work and find Harry in their shared office, back from wherever he’d been taken – he didn’t even care that Harry would probably still be mad at him. When that hadn’t happened, he’d expected an explanation from Tanaka or Simmons. They’d told him that they’d left a message with Robards last night, but his Floo had been closed. Susan and Opal had found him on his way to Robards’s office, wondering why Harry was still missing, but they’d decided it was for the best if Draco dealt with the Head Auror alone. He’d wanted to speak with him right away, but Robards had been in a meeting for a good half of the morning.

It was going on twelve hours since Harry’d been taken, and Draco was vibrating out of his skin.

“Sir, as one of the full-time Aurors on this case, and as Auror Potter’s partner, I cannot stress enough the danger I feel he is in. His rescue should be our top priority.”

“I understand your concern. If it were up to me, we’d be on our way to Harry right now.” Robards rubbed at the bridge of his nose, then fixed his gaze on Draco. “The last encounter we had with the Enkeli, two Aurors were injured. Last night one was kidnapped. We’re short of staff, and the Minister wants the final say on all missions until procedures are re-evaluated. I can’t let you or the Detective Aurors plan anything without speaking to Shacklebolt first.”

“If you’d let me make a case to the Minister, sir, I’m sure I can convince–”

“ _No,_ Malfoy. We’ve no reason to think Auror Potter is in any immediate danger. If we get more information, we’ll reevaluate. For now you are dismissed.”

“But sir–”

“ _Dismissed,_ Auror Malfoy.”

Robards eyes flashed as he pointedly opened a folder, pointing his wand towards the door to spell it open without looking up. Draco levered himself out of the chair and towards the door. Merlin knew Robards bent the rules enough when it came to Harry; why today had to be the day he decided to treat Harry like any other Auror was beyond Draco. It’d been over a decade since the war, but Harry was still the Saviour, the golden boy of the Ministry – surely they weren’t going to let the Enkeli _keep_ him.

Back in his office, Draco let out his irritation by casting shredding charms at old copies of the _Prophet_ until he had a pile that reached his knee. He tried to start on his report about the mission the previous night, but he kept having to skip sections that needed Harry’s signature, and by halfway down the parchment he was pressing so hard that his quill ripped through the page. He set down the quill and massaged his cramping hand, trying to calm his breathing. They’d had a seminar the previous summer where a witch from Nepal had taught them basic yoga and meditation techniques, supposedly to help mediate the anger problems Aurors were prone to. Draco tried alternate nostril breathing for a few minutes, and felt better until he opened his eyes and saw Harry’s glasses sitting on his desk, right where he’d put them down yesterday before he performed an eye-correction charm to go with his Glamour.

Hurling his inkwell across the room made Draco feel a little more balanced.

He watched the ink slide down the wall and let his mind wander.

There would be no convincing Robards; that was obvious. If he truly thought Harry was under no immediate threat, Draco didn’t know what he could say to convince him. Robards was the Head Auror; he had his nose in all the cases, but he had other responsibilities too – interpersonal issues, liaising with the other department heads, reporting to the Minister – he didn’t know this case like Draco and Harry did, like Simmons and Tanaka, but both the Detective Aurors were far more likely to listen to Robards’s orders than to Draco’s worries. 

The Enkeli weren’t violent – Draco wasn’t scared for Harry’s life. He didn’t think they’d be the sort to hold the Boy Who Lived for ransom, either.

But Wings was dangerous in a way Draco hadn’t seen before. He’d worked other potions cases – one before his partnership with Harry, that drained wizards of their magic, and at least three others since they’d become Senior Aurors. These potions were the same ones that were always available, or the occasional dangerous hybrid, but they created a sensation or a feeling, be it mania or drowsiness, artificial excitement, even lust – they were dangerous if overused, and most were addictive, but the crime of them was more often the distribution.

Witches and wizards who took Wings were sent into a hypnotic, almost dreamlike state, where they lived out their wildest fantasies and most deeply held desires. It wasn’t the chemistry of the potion that kept people coming back, but their need to escape reality. And the first few times, their wish was granted – one wizard they’d interviewed had been moved to tears describing what he’d seen.

But the potion was only so strong. If you used it too many times, you built up an immunity. Dreams started to become nightmares, so people took more and fell deeper into the dreamscape. In one abandoned supply location they’d found a young witch so deep in a coma that the Enkeli had left her for dead.

Robards hadn’t seen that girl. He saw no reason to fear for Harry’s life – that was true. But Draco knew Harry. He wouldn’t go easily, and the Enkeli had a way to keep him quiet.

He checked his watch. It was going on fourteen hours since that man had Side-Alonged Harry away.

Draco couldn’t sit around and wait.

The Unspeakables stared at him when he reached Level Nine. He ignored them. Hermione had had her own office ever since she was promoted – from what to what, no one knew – and Draco went straight there, waiting a scant second after he knocked to open the door and let himself in.

Hermione was building a house of cards on her desk and cast a stasis charm on it when she saw Draco.

“I might have been doing something confidential,” she said, pulling her chair around to the side of the desk and Conjuring one for him to sit in. On closer inspection, the objects she’d been working with were not cards, but iridescent sheets, like oversized beetle wings.

“You would have had wards up,” Draco said, sinking into the chair. “I’m here about Harry.”

Hermione’s face fell. “I thought you might be,” she said. “The new Auror Detective, Tanaka, right? She owled last night, and Robards Flooed us this morning.”

Draco always forgot that Hermione and Ron were still Harry’s emergency contacts. None of his relationships had ever lasted long enough to replace his best friends.

Hermione was watching him with careful eyes. “Are the Aurors going to do anything?”

He sighed, leaning forward and resting on his knees. “Robards won’t let me plan a rescue,” he said. “Not enough available Aurors and too many recent failures, apparently. He’d have to get approval from the Minister, but he doesn’t think Harry’s in immediate danger.”

“And you do?”

Draco sighed. Per Robards orders, no Aurors were to talk about ongoing cases with any Unspeakables, and vice-versa. Draco, Harry, and Hermione were all of the opinion that this hurt both departments, but they hadn’t broken the rule yet – at least Draco hadn’t. But he was already here…

“How much do you know about the case we’re working on?” he asked.

Hermione crossed and then uncrossed her legs. She was wearing plain trousers, her robes having been hung on a hook by the door. “Harry hasn’t told me much,” she hedged. “There’s a potion?”

“How much do you want to know?” Draco asked.

Hermione sucked in a breath and held it. She grabbed her wand from the desk and cast a familiar privacy spell at the door.

“What did Robards tell you?”

Hermione dropped her wand back onto her desk and rolled her eyes. “Harry’s been apprehended, all other information classified. Sometimes I wish Ron had stuck with Auror training just so we’d have more information.”

“We were meant to be going undercover as buyers of this potion,” Draco began.

“The hallucinogenic?”

“It’s called Wings, yes. And we had back-up but they set us up, and took our wands. One of them Apparated away with Harry while they were fighting.”

Hermione frowned. Draco could tell she was cataloguing what he’d said with what she’d already known, trying to find holes or discrepancies.

“Robards thinks Harry’s not in any danger. But you disagree?”

“This potion is dangerous,” Draco said. “It starts off showing you dreams, but with overexposure they become nightmares – the more of the potion they take, the longer it lasts, and the longer it lasts, the more difficult it is to get them out of it. More than a few hours and the are trapped in a dream state, with no way to get themselves free without outside influence.”

“And you think they’ve given Harry this potion.”

Draco nodded. “Why wouldn’t they? Usually they charge exorbitantly, but they also pick who to sell to – clearly it’s not a matter of supply and demand. If you had a potion that would keep one of the most powerful wizards in Britain docile, wouldn’t you use it?”

Hermione cursed and pulled a pen out of her bun, scrawling notes across a legal pad. “How long has he been gone?”

“Fourteen hours, at least. It’s unlikely they would have dosed him that whole time, but back-to-back doses–”

“He’ll be into the nightmares by now.”

“Yes.” Draco said, his throat tight. “Well into the nightmares. They cause a sort of coma that we’ve seen become permanent, in extreme cases. You can use Legilimency to enter the dreamscape and bring the user back, but it’s dangerous. I’d like to get to him before it gets to that point. But Robards wouldn’t listen to me.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Draco–”

“I know it’s a big ask,” he interrupted. “I know. But we have to get him now. If you can help me trace where they Apparated to, I know I can get enough Aurors to bring him home. Please, Hermione.”

\---

It was easy to get back into the secret passageway.

Draco had brought along Dean and Opal, both because they were also friends with Harry and less favored by Robards. Hermione met them there. She was leaning against the stone wall across the street, and Draco was surprised to see Ron was with her.

“He’s not an Unspeakable,” he said, after greetings had been made.

Ron rolled his eyes. “And you’re going against orders anyway, yeah? So I don’t think my being here’s going to make that big a difference.”

Opal cast a spell that wound her braids into a knot at the base of her neck. “If this lovely reunion is done, can you show us how to get inside?”

The bar was closed this early in the afternoon, but all it took was an _Alohomora_ and they were inside. Draco led the group through the bar’s connected rooms, the decor even louder by wandlight. He stopped at the hidden doorway the Enkeli member had lead them through the night before.

“This is it, but one of their group let us in. I don’t know what sort of wards they’ve got up,” Draco explained.

Hermione raised her wand to cast, but Dean stopped her with a hand on her elbow.

“The door’s already open.”

It was cracked only a sliver, but it was true. Dean pushed it open with his toe and lead them inside.

“The room was down the hall a bit,” Draco said. Dean illuminated his wand and lead the way, after casting a general revealing spell.

When they got to the room, the furniture was gone.

The others fanned out into the room, examining the space, and Draco stared. It was the same room, but all the detritus of life that had been there yesterday had been cleared out.

“It was a set-up,” he said.

Opal looked at him sharply. “What?”

“There was, yesterday there was furniture – we sat at a table. And there, on that wall, some kind of storage cabinet. It’s all gone.”

“You told us they all Apparated away before you left,” Hermione said.

“They did – someone must have come back to clear the room,” Draco said. “It’s almost as if–”

“They were only leaving it here to trick you,” Dean finished his thought. “They’d already abandoned this location.”

“It would follow their usual MO,” Opal pointed out.

Ron frowned. “What do you mean?”

“They never stay in one location long,” Draco said. “We’ve no idea where their base is, where they actually make the potion, but for distribution, they’ve been all over the city. Mostly clubs, but both wizarding and Muggle, and there’s no pattern to where they pick, or why.”

“You said there was an anti-Apparition ward up?” Hermione asked, pulling out her wand.

“No Apparition in and limited out, yes.”

She spoke a lengthy incantation under her breath, and various runes glowed on the walls. The others watched in silence.

Finally she smiled. “Yes,” she said. “They’ve imbedded the coordinates of the locations you can Apparate to – Harry has to be at one of those.”

With a few more spells Hermione was able to get the coordinates – a lengthy list.

“Some of these are out of the country,” Dean said, looking at her notes.

“Decoys,” Opal muttered. “They have to be. These four are the closest to us – it’s probably one of them. Even with their distribution base changing, they can’t be carrying the potion such long distances via magic without risking it destabilising.”

“Then we’ll split those four and each try one,” Draco said.

“Oi, Malfoy, there’s five of us here,” Ron interrupted.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I may be going against direct orders, but I do have some regard for protocol. You’ll have to stick with one of us; we don’t know where the coordinates could lead to. We might land in the middle of a meeting of Enkeli.”

“We shouldn’t go alone,” Opal said. “Two go on ahead to check, and then report back here. When we’ve found Harry, we all Apparate. Agreed?”

\---

They’d taken Harry to a cottage fifty miles outside the city, the sixth closest of the coordinates on the list. The two unsuspecting guards were easily knocked unconscious by Dean and Ron – “I did two years of Auror training, why do people always forget that?” – and a _Homenum Revelio_ showed that Harry was the only other person in the house, in an upstairs bedroom.

After Ron came back to let them know the house was clear, Draco led the way up the stairs, heart pounding, mind racing – would Harry be happy to see them; would he be awake; why had Robards insisted they leave Harry unattended when all it had taken was a little collaboration and some quick thinking to find him – and froze when he got to the doorway.

The room looked like it had once belonged to a child, then stripped of any childish associations. It was dominated by a large dresser against the far wall and a twin bed in the corner; on the bed was Harry. He was laid out on top of a faded duvet, still in the clothes he’d been wearing the previous night. One sleeve of his shirt had been rolled up to the elbow, and a bell jar spelled to hover by the headboard was dripping a thick clear potion down a tube that was inserted into his arm.

“Fuck.” Draco was at his side in a moment, falling to his knees at the side of the bed and reaching for Harry’s wrist. His pulse was strong but slow, and bruises had formed around the injection site.

Draco felt someone behind him and looked up to see Dean. “Are we too late?” he asked quietly.

Draco nodded, squeezing Harry’s hand. “They’ve already put him under,” he said. “Probably has been for a while.”

“So take that tube out of his arm and let’s go,” Ron said. He looked slightly ill.

“It’s not that simple,” Dean explained. “The potion is highly addictive, especially when it’s administered like this. If we remove him from the source without a mediwizard here to put him into a proper stasis, he’ll go into withdrawal immediately.”

Dean’s voice was hollow, and Draco knew he was thinking of the raid they’d done two months ago, when Wings was first being distributed. They’d found an emaciated teenager hooked up to a source like this, and as soon as they’d removed the needle in her arm, the distribution device had melted away and she’d started convulsing.

Hermione came to stand at the foot of the bed. “What do we do, then?” she asked. “Didn’t you say something about Legilimency?”

Opal’s scoff was loud from behind him. “Draco, you can’t be thinking of doing that!” she said. “That was a hypothetical situation – we don’t know if it will actually work.”

“What other options do we have?” he said. “We’re already going against direct orders – it’s not like we can go back and ask Robards to lend us a mediwizard for the mission he explicitly forbid.”

“It’s dangerous, Draco. For both you and Harry.”

“And we’ve got no other choice – the longer he’s under the influence of that potion, the harder it will be to get him out of it!”

“Could one of you explain what you’re talking about to the non-Aurors in the room?” Hermione interrupted. She had her arms crossed over her chest but her eyes were scared, and Ron at her shoulder kept glancing back at Harry.

Dean sighed. “Once he’s reached the comatose state, he’ll be in a sort of dreamscape. Potentially hundreds of different dream-versions of Harry, all experiencing different things, both positive and negative. He’s experiencing all of them in the way you might experience dreams, but they are just shadows – his full consciousness will be there somewhere, maybe even in one of the dreams.

“We’ve hypothesized that one could use Legilimency to enter the dreamscape and find the actual consciousness of the victim, and convince them to get out that way. For obvious reasons, we haven’t been able to test this theory.”

“And we shouldn’t try it now, because there are about a hundred ways it could go wrong,” Opal added. “Whoever does it is risking being stuck in Harry’s consciousness indefinitely if they don’t manage to pull him out of it in time. It’s too risky.”

There was a long moment of silence. Opal was still glaring at Draco, daring him to argue. Dean was watching them warily. Hermione had gone to sit next to Harry, examining the site where the potion drip was inserted into his arm.

“I’m doing it.”

No one seemed particularly surprised by Draco’s words. Opal sighed and walked away from him, throwing her hands in the air.

“I hope this works, Malfoy. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

“Draco, is this really dangerous?” Hermione asked, voice worried.

“No–”

“Yes it is, you idiot,” Dean cut him off. “But I agree it’s our best bet.”

“One of us should go,” Ron said, the first time he’d spoken in a while. “We’re his best friends. It’s about convincing him to leave, yeah? I’d be able to do that.”

“And if you end up stuck there?” Dean said gently. “You have a kid, and you’re a civilian – you shouldn’t even be here.” He sighed. “If anyone is going to do it, it should be Draco, if he’s willing.”

“I am.”

Opal huffed but didn’t turn around. “Longer than an hour, and you’ll never be able to get out, even if you convince him. The shadow Harrys won’t notice that you’re there – only his consciousness will be able to actually sense you. So find him and leave, alright? That’s your top priority.”

“I know,” Draco murmured. “Thank you.”

Hermione got up to make room for him at the side of Harry’s bed. Draco could feel them clustering at his back as he sat down and pulled out his wand to cast the spell.

“Wish me luck,” he said. “ _Legilimens._ ”

There was no response before his vision went dark and he fell forward.

\---

Draco landed lightly in the middle of a Quidditch pitch.

The grass was slightly damp against his trainers as he took a few steps forward. The morning air was still heavy with mist, sunlight beginning to show through, promising a beautiful day. A gentle breeze rustled the grass and flattened his shirt against his body. He always forgot how big a Quidditch pitch really was when he flew – moving so fast and covering so much distance, the pitch almost felt constricting sometimes. Now, he could almost make out the glint of the goalposts in the weak sunlight. The magnitude of the space was amplified by the lack of stands; only the slight incline in the ground and trees in the distance marked the edges of the pitch.

Draco wondered at the fact that he seemed to be alone, but no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he heard a joyous yell from behind him. He whirled around and saw Harry flying towards him – but not Harry as he was now, Harry as he’d been the first time they met, back when he was Potter, scrawny and unafraid and eleven. He was wearing his Gryffindor Quidditch robes, the red streaming out behind him as he reached for the Snitch. Draco heard the robes whipping in the wind as he banked and turned in the air above Draco, shooting off in the other direction. Draco tracked him as he flew farther and farther away, wondering if he was going to leave the pitch, if Draco was supposed to follow him; in the space of a blink the figure changed, and it was Harry as he was now diving back down to Draco, dressed in jeans and a chunky cream-colored jumper.

Young Harry had been chasing a Snitch, intense as any Quidditch match they’d played against each other during school. This Harry pulled dramatically out of the dive and then made several loops in the air, going high and then low with no real destination in mind. Draco’s chest tightened as he realized he was watching Harry flying for fun.

Harry turned and began to fly towards the far end of the pitch. Though just minutes ago, Draco had been confident the day would be sunny and warm, the breeze was now cold, and he shivered in his thin shirt. The first drops of rain landed on his shoulders, and Draco realized he would be soaked through by the time he made it to the tree cover beyond the edge of the pitch. He wished he had a broom, and then he did have one, hovering in midair beside him. Like the Hogwarts school brooms, it was simple and had no brand name, but it would get the job done. Draco quickly mounted the broom and pushed off the ground, speeding towards the edge of the pitch as the rain began to beat against his back.

As soon as he was past the goal posts, his broom began to falter. He wasn’t that high up to begin with, but barely managed to make a proper landing before it dropped from his hands and fell to the ground, a useless piece of wood and twigs.

It was now pouring on the Quidditch pitch, even the nearest goalposts barely visible through the storm, so Draco hurried into the forest, eager for the cover of the branches.

Only after he’d walked several feet did he realise he’d rushed into a forest in an enchanted dreamscape, defenseless, _wandless._ Some Auror he was. He turned around to retrace his steps, but he was surrounded by dense flora and thick tree trunks; these were not the young trees at the edge of a forest, but the old ones that grew deep in the woods, undisturbed by human hands.

Up ahead, he heard a rustling noise and saw a faint light. Going against all of his instincts, he walked towards it, trying not to make too much noise as he ducked under branches and stepped over roots. Finally, he saw a figure up ahead – Harry, but Harry as a teenager, wearing dirty, too-big jeans and a ripped flannel shirt. He was walking further into the forest, wand held loosely in one hand, but it wasn’t the holly wand Draco was used to seeing Harry use. It was the hawthorne wand that Draco had used for all of school, and all the pieces slid into place in Draco’s head.

Taking a few steps closer to track him from a shorter distance, Draco realized that Harry wasn’t alone. He was flanked by four ghostly figures. He was surprised to recognize one of them as Professor Lupin, and another as Sirius Black – he had the same nose as Draco’s mother. On Harry’s other side walked a man a few inches taller than him with a similarly messy head of hair, and a beautiful woman.

Draco’s heart clenched. Those were Harry’s parents.

Harry had a picture of them on the mantle at his house, but it was small and Draco had never spent much time examining it. Seeing these ghostly reproductions of James and Lily Potter was completely different. Occasionally they would turn to look at their son, and Draco was shaken every time. Harry really did look just like James – the arch of his nose, the line of his jaw, the lithe frame and effortless movement – but there was something of Lily in him too, some softness, the peace that seemed to emanate from her face.

But they were _so young._

Draco knew, in the way he also knew the year the Statue of Secrecy was enacted and the number of students at Hogwarts, that James and Lily Potter had married young, had Harry young. He knew Harry’d been only a year old when they were murdered. But it was different to see it, to see their unlined faces, almost straddling the line between teenagers and adults. Merlin, they couldn’t be older than Draco had been when he’d made Junior Auror. Harry had already outlived both his parents by the time he and Draco had started working together.

He didn’t know how long he trailed after the teenaged Harry and his four spectral companions, but it was long enough that he had begun to worry about how much of the hour-long time limit he’d eaten up so far. His wristwatch had stopped working as soon as he’d entered the dreamscape, and likely wouldn’t have been reliable anyway, but he was starting to get antsy. He had so little time to find Harry – the real Harry, not one of these shadow, dream versions.

The group he was following slowed to a halt. Harry let something fall from his hand, and his parents, Black, and Lupin disappeared.

Draco saw the way Harry’s shoulders hunched as he was left alone. He took a moment to compose himself before throwing them back again. Draco followed Harry’s eyes as he continued forward, and his stomach dropped.

Oh, _fuck_ no.

Voldemort stood, robes billowing around his sickly pale head and hands. He was flanked by Death Eaters, including Draco’s parents. Bile rose in his throat at the sight of the Dark Lord, looking just as he had when he ruled the Manor, straight out of Draco’s own nightmares. He caught sight of his father – tired but strong, as he’d been before Azkaban destroyed his body – and acted without thinking.

“Harry!” he called. It felt unnatural to disturb the silent scene. Draco was certain that at any moment those red eyes would turn on him, followed by a wand, as had happened so many times during the last year of the war, but no one reacted to his shout.

“Harry?” he tried again. His voice wasn’t even muffled by the forest; it sounded like it did when he stood in the Aurors’ training room, shouting to his partner at the opposite end of the vast space.

They couldn’t hear him. Draco had spent precious minutes trekking through the fucking Forbidden Forest and was no closer to finding the location of Harry’s true consciousness; he wasn’t about to watch Voldemort cast _Avada Kedavra_ on the man he was trying to find. He started walking back the way he’d come, hoping the dreamscape would eventually spit him out back on the Hogwarts grounds, or the mystery Quidditch pitch. He had to fight his way through an especially dense cluster of branches, and all of a sudden found himself at the end of a long corridor.

At the end of it, a man that Draco vaguely recognized as the Weasleys’ father sat slumped against the wall, bleeding. There was a faint hissing that sent shivers down Draco’s spine.

The sight was disturbing, but it was all a dream, Draco reminded himself. He was here to look for Harry.

The wall he’d just fallen through was now solid, so he had no choice but to walk forward.

As he did, doors appeared on either side of him.

Draco reluctantly opened the first one on his right.

He immediately recognized Andromeda’s sitting room, Harry and Teddy sat in the middle of the carpet. Teddy was around six, and they appeared to be having a tea party: Harry was holding a miniature cup and saucer and was next to several stuffed animals. On the floor in front of them sat a plate of biscuits and a teapot. Draco watched for a moment as Harry held out his cup and Teddy pretended to refill it.

“Harry?” he called, but there was no response as Harry laughed with his godson.

Draco left the door open and continued down the hall.

The next door opened into a circular room that Draco recognized as the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts. Harry sat across from Dumbledore at the desk. Draco caught sight of Dumbledore’s black, wizened hand and realized this must be a memory from their sixth year.

He didn’t want to speak, but he knew he had to. “Harry?”

No response. Sixteen-year-old Harry’s eyes were focused on Dumbledore. Draco moved on.

His eyes took a moment to adjust when he opened the next door. The room was dimly lit, moonlight streaming in and illuminating the two figures in the bed. Draco registered crisp white sheets and an oak bed frame before his brain caught up with his eyes and he recognised the two men in the bed.

Harry was holding himself up on his elbows, eyes locked with Draco’s as he thrust into him. The slope of his back was covered in a light sheen of sweat. The movement of the muscles of his arse as he fucked the dream Draco was almost hypnotic. Draco could hear the slapping of skin from across the room. The Draco created by the dreamscape was stretched out under Harry, head thrown back in pleasure, hair a sweaty mess. He had his hands on Harry’s shoulders and his heavy legs wrapped around Harry’s hips. The contrast between the two of them – Harry’s light brown skin and lithe form above Draco’s pale softness – was almost comical.

Draco stepped back from the door, slightly dizzy from sudden arousal. Harry was an attractive man – it was hardly surprising that Draco was a little turned on from watching him fuck someone. But watching him fuck Draco – seeing his own forbidden fantasy played out in front of his eyes – made it all the more heady.

The next door he opened drained him of arousal quicker than he would’ve thought possible.

White marble sinks lit by high thin windows that Draco remembered too well from that year. Myrtle’s bathroom. But she was nowhere to be seen, because in the middle of the room stood Harry, wand extended and face painted with horror. At his feet was Draco, thin and scared as he’d ever been in his life, bleeding out onto the floor.

“Harry?”

No response. Draco shut the door behind him when he left.

Behind the next door, a mid-twenties Harry stood in a nondescript kitchen with Hermione and Ron. Harry stood at the hob, tending a large saucepan. Ron was sat at the table, Hermione next to him drinking a mug of tea. As Draco watched, Ron told a story that caused them all to laugh. Hermione got out of the chair, still laughing, and started walking towards the fridge. Halfway there she clutched her chest and fell to her knees. Ron and Harry rushed to help her, but it was like they moved in slow motion, and by the time they crossed the scant few feet to her side, Hermione had already stopped moving, her body withered and frail where minutes before she had been glowing with health.

Draco watched with sick fascination as the scene rewound back to the beginning, Harry and Ron moving back to their stations before Hermione rose like a sock puppet, her body filling out as she walked backwards and sat down in her chair.

Ron began the story again.

“Harry?”

No response. Draco left.

The next room was quiet and dark. Draco crept inside, closing the door behind him on instinct. This room was a bedroom too– no, a nursery. There was a plain white crib along one wall, perpendicular to a changing table. A mobile of different colored owls hung over the crib. The bedding was white. Draco wondered if the room was empty.

A snore from behind him made him whip around, senses on high alert. Against the far wall was a sofa he hadn’t noticed. He took a few steps closer and the figures on it became clearer. Harry was fast asleep, entire body slumped and head thrown back. He had one arm wrapped around a baby, who was also sleeping, head resting on Harry’s shoulder. Leaning against the other shoulder was Draco, also asleep. His hand rested on Harry’s knee.

Draco was frozen. He forgot about the time limit, he didn’t know how long he stood there, watching the sleeping family.

The thought took him by surprise, but he couldn’t deny the truth of it. Had it been anyone in the tableau but himself and Harry, he would have named it as such instantly. The tired new parents, called into the nursery by their baby crying, too exhausted to return to their own bed once they had lulled the child back to sleep. It was as much a family portrait as the one that had hung above the fireplace in the grandest room of the Manor, himself as a child in smart dress robes, sat beside his mother while his father stood behind them.

He couldn’t help stepping farther into the room as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The child had short brown hair and skin a few shades lighter than Harry’s. Draco was dressed in joggers and a thin t-shirt, the kind of clothes he reserved for after dinner and before breakfast. A wedding band glinted on the hand on Harry’s leg, and there was a matching one on Harry’s ring finger where it rested against their child’s back.

Their child. Which Harry was holding as he slept, Draco curled up against him.

All of the sudden Draco needed to leave, desperately and urgently. The scene before his eyes was too unbelievable, too far from any reality he knew. Reality was Draco traipsing through Harry’s dreams, barging in on scenes Harry didn’t want him to see, because Harry was drugged and drifting through this _fucking_ dreamscape, and if Draco didn’t find him in time he’d be worse than dead. No time to get distracted by the fantasy of domesticity in front of him, or Harry’d be lost, and not just as Draco’s Auror partner.

His head was spinning as he opened the next door down the hallway.

“Not Harry!”

A woman’s voice, filled with a terror that curdled Draco’s blood.

“Not Harry, please not Harry–”

Lily Potter stood in front of her son’s crib and tried to reason with a madman.

Loose red hair and bare feet. She looked even younger in her pyjamas. Her wand had been dropped carelessly on a chair across the room, and Draco could tell she was trying to Summon it, but it wouldn’t be any use, because in front of her–

Lord Voldemort, as he’d looked the first time. Just as reptilian and cold as Draco remembered. Voldemort sneered and walked forward, bearing down on Harry’s mother.

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead–”

Across the room, Lily’s wand twitched, trying to reach her hand. In the crib behind her, Harry began to cry.

Lily’s voice was hoarse, but she didn’t back down as Voldemort drew closer. “Not Harry! Please...have mercy! Have mercy!”

Voldemort laughed as he killed her.

“Harry,” Draco whispered.

The Dark Lord didn’t hear him as he approached the baby in the crib, but the whole room wobbled.

Draco’s heartbeat quickened. He repeated himself, louder this time. “Harry?”

 

The whole room blinked out and back, too quick for Draco to see what was there in its place.

“Harry, are you there? It’s Draco.”

His surroundings began to flicker more violently. Voldemort raising his wand – a suburban front door – Lily Potter dead on the ground – floral carpet – baby Harry, wide eyed – a sitting room – green light –

Draco closed his eyes and spoke as clearly as he could. “Harry, I want to help you, but I can’t find you. Where are you?”

When he opened his eyes again his surroundings had solidified into a plain corridor alongside a staircase. 

In front of him was a door, the top of it slanted to fit below the staircase. A small slatted window was placed near the top of the door, about a foot and a half below Draco’s eye level.

From inside the cupboard, he could hear someone crying, muffled as though they were trying to make as little noise as possible.

Draco took a deep breath in, then let it out. “Harry?” he called softly.

The crying paused for a moment, then resumed again, minutely louder.

Draco went to open the door of the cupboard and realised it was padlocked shut. He cursed to himself – his wand had not followed him into the dreamscape, and he had nothing on him that could be used to pick a lock – but when he reached for it to examine it, the lock fell off into his hand.

He had to crouch to open the door.

“Harry?”

From the shadows at the other end of the cupboard, the sniffling noises increased. As his eyes adjusted, Draco could make out Harry curled up against the wall, his arms wrapped around his knees and his face hidden. The ceiling slanted low at that end of the small space, and Draco had to get on his knees and crawl to reach Harry. The room wasn’t meant to fit one grown man, let alone two.

He stopped a few feet away. “Harry?”

Hearing his name only made Harry cry harder. His shoulders were shaking as he wept, but his arms around his face muffled the noise, and Draco’s heart broke a little bit.

He didn’t know what to do.

“Harry, do you know who I am? It’s Draco,” he said, then wondered if that would upset Harry more.

“It’s Draco. I’m here to bring you home, Harry.”

Harry didn’t react and Draco wondered if he’d heard him.

He eased off of his knees and into a sitting position, still a few feet in front of Harry.

“I’m here if you need me, Harry,” he said, unsure what to do. He’d never dealt with a crying Harry before. Harry usually seemed so strong. He was not unaffected by the things he had gone through, he was certainly shaped by them, but he always seemed more weathered, like the walls of Hogwarts, which had survived years of buffeting by the elements that only proved their strength.

The way Harry sat now, as though he was trying to hold himself into as small a space as possible, made Draco’s chest hurt.

“Can I hold your hand?” he asked, not sure where the impulse came from. He held out his arm, feeling ridiculous, but slowly Harry unwound one arm from around his legs and reached for Draco. Draco caught his hand and held it, shuffling forward a few inches to make the position more comfortable.

He didn’t know how long they sat like that before Harry began to calm.

“Draco?”

Harry’s words were muffled against his arm, but it still startled Draco to be addressed directly in the dreamscape after so far being only an observer.

That meant, though, that this was really Harry, and Draco’s heartbeat quickened. He’d done it – he’d found him. Now he just had to convince him to leave.

“Yes, Harry. It’s me.”

Before the words were completely out of his mouth, Draco’s arms were full of Potter, Harry leaning his full weight onto Draco as he wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck and buried his face in his shoulder.

“It’s really you,” he said, and Draco could feel fresh tears soaking into the collar of his shirt. “It’s really you. I dreamed you came to get me, and I followed you, but then you turned into Dumbledore and told me I had to solve an impossible puzzle – and then I dreamed I killed you in the bathroom, and you were dead but it was you _now,_ laid out in the tomb, and– and–”

“It’s alright, Harry,” Draco said, pulling Harry down gently until he was half in Draco’s lap instead of leaning over him. “It’s alright. It’s me. We’re going to get you out of here.”

“But it’s locked,” Harry said quietly. He pressed his face into Draco’s shoulder once more. “I dreamed you would come.”

“I’m here, Harry.”

Harry’s legs were curled underneath him, both his arms around Draco’s neck as his breathing calmed. Draco ran his hand up and down Harry’s back as they sat there. He could feel the tense muscles through the thin material of Harry’s work shirt, and was reminded of the way they had looked, sweaty and bare, as the dream Harry fucked dream Draco. He couldn’t help but be conscious of the way his position made his belly rolls more noticeable, or the way the fabric of his trousers pulled across his round thighs, but Harry was probably too shaken up to care.

Draco let them sit there until Harry’s breath was coming normally and his shoulders softened. Then he spoke. “We should try and get out of here,” he said.

Harry sat up but kept his arms draped over Draco’s shoulders. His green eyes were dreamy and slightly unfocused behind his glasses, and as Draco watched, the cupboard around them faded away. Now they were sitting beneath a tree on one of the grassy hills overlooking the Great Lake at Hogwarts. Dappled sunlight fell across Harry’s face as he smiled at Draco.

“Why do you want to leave?” he said. He leaned closer to Draco, resting their foreheads together and smiling. “I like being here with you.”

“Harry–”

“You know I love you, don’t you, Draco?” Harry was so close that his breath puffed across Draco’s lips. “Sometimes I think you don’t know. How could you not know?”

Draco was speechless, and did nothing to stop it as Harry’s lips collided with his own.

It was a soft kiss, so light and quick, and it wasn’t until Harry pulled back and sighed his name that Draco brought his hands up to Harry’s shoulders and pushed him away.

“Harry, we need to get you out of here,” he said. “You’ve been dosed with Wings – do you remember about the investigation? You’ve been dreaming, and the longer we stay here the more dangerous it will be to get you out. You need to come with me.”

Harry’s expression was unfathomable. “If this is a dream, why won’t you kiss me?”

“Harry–”

“Draco, I want you to kiss me.”

It was wrong. Harry couldn’t know what he was asking, even if his eyes were clear and steady as he gazed at Draco. But all of Draco’s emotions were sparking under his skin, all his fears since Harry had been taken merging and multiplying with the memory of what he’d just seen, strolling through Harry’s dreams and desires. And Harry’s eyes were so green and bright, and his shoulders were warm and firm and solid under Draco’s hands. Before he knew it he was falling into the kiss, and it didn’t feel like the first time. It felt like he’d been doing this for years, kissing Harry, just another way of knowing him, another set of details to memorise and hold close to his heart. Draco knew the way Harry tasted, the way his bottom lip was chapped, and the little scar at the corner of his mouth, just the way he knew Harry’s taste in drinks, his favourite sandwich, and his opinion on the structure of the DMLE. It was the best first kiss Draco had ever experienced precisely because it didn’t feel like one at all.

Harry was the one who pulled away, running his hands through Draco’s hair one last time before he sat back and stood up, holding out a hand to help Draco to his feet. He held onto Draco’s hand for a second, looking out across the lake, and Draco followed his gaze. It was a rare beautiful day, the kind he always remembered when he thought of Hogwarts, and the surface of the lake rippled in the breeze.

Harry squeezed Draco’s hand once before dropping it.

“So. Tell me how we get out of here.”

\---

Draco regained consciousness in St Mungo’s for the seventh time in his life.

The first time it had happened was just after his eighth birthday, when he flew too high on the grown-up broom his mother hadn’t wanted to buy him and fell off it from above the treeline. Every other time had been since he started working in the DMLE.

His head was throbbing.

Opal was sitting at his bedside, flipping through a thick notebook.

“Good, you’re awake,” she said. “I told you that was a bad idea.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Draco asked, pulling himself into a sitting position. Everything spun for a moment while his brain readjusted. “It did work, right?”

“Harry’s fine.” Opal shut the notebook and dropped it onto the pile at her feet. Draco wondered how long she’d been sitting there. “You might not be after Robards finishes with you.”

Draco leaned back into his pillows. “Shit.”

“You were both out cold, so we Apparated you here, and of course they called Robards, who called in Simmons and Tanaka, and they lost their collective shit.” Opal got to her feet and stretched, bending an arm behind her head and grabbing her elbow, then repeating the motion on the other side. “Harry’s in detox at least overnight. Your Healer has to check you out before you can leave, and Tanaka is downstairs running damage control. She wants to see you before you leave.”

With that, Opal spelled her notebooks into a stack, shrunk them, and put them in her pocket.

She paused by the door and looked back at him. “That was an exceedingly foolish decision, but I’m glad it worked, and I’m glad you’re alright.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

\---

The Healer gave Draco a pain potion for his head and told him he was free to go, but Tanaka cornered him in the room before he could make his escape.

“Malfoy,” she said, and frowned at him. He and Harry had talked about it, and decided that she couldn’t be older than forty, more likely thirty-five, but she had mastered a disappointed look that was almost as good as Narcissa’s. “You went against Robards’s orders.”

“Yes.” Draco forced himself to meet her eyes. They were a deep brown reminiscent of coffee and the night. He wished his clothes weren’t so hideously wrinkled.

“You weren’t authorized for that mission. You put not only yourself, but other Ministry employees and a civilian in serious danger.”

He clenched his jaw and refused to be cowed down by her glare. “And when we got there, Harry’d already been dosed with Wings long enough to be having nightmares. What would have happened to him by the time Robards approved the mission?”

Tanaka’s eyes flashed. “Questioning the Head Auror isn’t a good look on someone who used to be a Death Eater,” she sneered. “The Enkeli are more dangerous than you realise. It’s lucky you were even able to get Harry out of there without being tracked.” Her voice dropped dangerously low. “You should go home and get some rest. Don’t try to find the Enkeli’s headquarters again; leave that to Detective Auror Simmons and me, okay?”

Every inch of Draco wanted to argue with her, but he ached with exhaustion, and wanted nothing more than to go home, sleep for twelve hours, and consult with Harry about the new information they’d gathered the past few days.

His heart flipped at the thought of other things Harry might want to do with him once he’d woken up.

“Can I see Harry before I go?” he asked, pocketing his wallet and wand. Felicity watched as he sat on the bed to lace up his shoes.

“He’s in a private room,” she said, “sleeping. The Healers said he could have visitors in the morning.”

Draco nodded, and left Felicity Tanaka standing in his room, imposing as ever.

\---

Despite his bone-deep exhaustion when he woke up in St Mungo’s, as soon as he was home and in his own bed, Draco’s whole body was on alert. He wanted very much to sleep, but he couldn’t clear his mind, images from the past twenty-four hours flitting behind his eyes. He remembered how Harry had held his waist in the bar, the room in the dreamscape where they’d been having sex; he couldn’t reconcile Harry’s usual warm presence and friendly affection with the way he’d looked at Draco in that dream. The scene had swum with heat and passion, the kind Draco had always wished he might one day experience, but up until now had eluded him. He’d resigned himself to it, almost.

Every time in the past that Harry had given him an opening for something more than friendship, Draco hadn’t taken it. He’d assumed that Harry’s thoughts on the matter mirrored his own – they were best friends, already spent the majority of their time together, and were both into men, but neither of them had been in a serious relationship for years because of the pressure of their job. It would be logical to scratch an itch with each other. Draco had said no because he didn’t want to be just someone convenient for Harry. He’d had enough exes who he knew didn’t find him attractive; he didn’t want to spoil his friendship with Harry by adding him onto the pile.

Harry’d said, when he told Draco he was going to request a new partner, that he couldn’t keep ignoring his feelings for Draco. But until he saw into Harry’s mind, Draco hadn’t realised the depth of feeling that Harry meant. He’d dreamed of a _family_ with Draco. Salazar help him. His dearest wish before leaving the dream had been for Draco to kiss him.

_“You know I love you, don’t you, Draco? Sometimes I think you don’t know. How could you not know?”_

Draco rolled onto his side, tucking his shoulder under the pillow. No matter how many times he turned the memories over in his head, it wouldn’t matter until he could speak to Harry. He didn’t even know if Harry remembered what he’d seen in the dreamscape, or Draco coming to rescue him; maybe he would still be mad at Draco after all. He’d have to wait on all of that until Harry woke up.

That was all Draco wanted, really. For Harry to wake up, and then, if he was lucky, for everything to go back to normal.

At half past four in the morning, when Draco had still only managed to drift into a brief doze, he gave up on sleeping and got out of bed. After a preemptive Wakefulness Potion and a shower, he dressed in jeans and a jumper. It was still too early to visit Harry at Mungo’s, of course; he also didn’t want to turn up empty-handed, given how tense the air between them had been over the past week.

A gift? No, a gift would be odd. And it’s not as though any shops would be open earlier than Draco planned to get to the hospital.

He could make some food to bring, but he didn’t know what Harry would be up for eating; he might just want to rest, although that would be difficult in the uncomfortable hospital-issued robes – unless Draco stopped by his house and brought him something to wear.

A flock of butterflies that Draco hadn’t noticed were in his stomach calmed when he was still able to Apparate into Harry’s living room. Whatever Harry’s feelings towards him had become, at least they weren’t so serious that he no longer trusted Draco to have access to his home.

Draco went straight for Harry’s bedroom. He’d never been _in_ the room as such; he’d seen it on the grand tour when Harry had first moved into this flat, and once he’d waited in the doorway while Harry hunted for his raincoat before they left for a stake-out. He’d never gotten to properly take it in.

There was no mistaking that Harry’s bedroom was his. Every corner of the space held a piece of him. The extra Auror robes hanging in the open closet, the trainers kicked off next to the dresser, the precarious stack of reading material on the bedside table which included two copies of _Quidditch Weekly,_ the _Auror’s Guide to Practical Offensive Magic, Hogwarts: A History,_ and an Agatha Christie novel. His pajamas had been thrown across the foot of the bed, but the duvet was tucked in neatly over the pillows. A lime green sock poked out of the laundry basket.

Draco shook his head as he realized he’d stopped in the middle of the room, simply soaking in the space. “Get it together, Malfoy,” he muttered to himself. Opening the middle drawer of Harry’s dresser yielded him plaid pajama bottoms and a pair of thick woolen socks; in the top drawer he found a sleep tee and a sweatshirt. He mostly resisted the urge to rub his cheek over the soft, well-loved fabric, and after a standard shrinking spell he slipped the clothes into his pocket. He was heading for the front door with a plan to stop at Café Nero for an early-morning latte before he walked to the hospital, when a pile of papers on the desk caught his eye.

It drew his attention because everything else in Harry’s living room was, if not perfectly neat, at least not messy. Draco had never seen a dish left on the coffee table, or the throw blanket left in a pile on the sofa. Harry’s desk was usually clear because he rarely used it; all of his work was done in their office or at Draco’s flat.

He was standing at the desk and leafing through the notes before he could second-guess the impulse.

These were Harry’s notes about the Wings case, but they’d grown since Draco’d seen them last, spread across his kitchen table while they did paperwork last Thursday. The careful paragraphs which listed facts that Draco already knew had devolved into a list of harsh bullet points, written out in black and edited in red.

_There’s someone on the inside!!_

_Ed. have discussed w/ D, we are in agreement.  
~~Have not discussed w/ Draco but assume he has realised;~~ Mandalyn’s “raid” attempt marks THIRD time this has happened – no way it is a coincidence._

_We get solid information on location where W. is being sold_  
Take information to Tanaka, Simmons, + Robards  
Robards authorizes raid  
?????  
When we arrive for the raid, THEY ARE GONE  
Clearly someone on the inside who has information passing it to Enkeli 

_Who has known about all the raids??_  
~~H + D~~ (obviously neither of us!!)  
Felicity – she’s new, what do we know about her past? Why the transfer?  
Robards – what would his motive be???  
~~Simmons~~ joined the case late; not privy to all the same info as Tanaka  
~~Opal + Dean~~ didn’t know about Mandy’s  
~~Susan + Richard~~ didn’t know about the Green Goblin 

_Robards or Tanaka – potentially working together?_

_We don’t know anything about Felicity Tanaka!_

Here, Harry had drawn an arrow to the next page; Draco flipped it over, his heart pounding in his chest.

A few headlines cut out and pasted from the _L.A. Magical Times,_ various cases successfully solved. In one of them, a younger Felicity stood arm-in-arm with a taller woman in front of a podium.

Harry’s notes were scrawled across the clippings and onto the next page.

_Felicity’s career_  
Training in L.A.  
Jr Auror LA, then Chicago  
Sr Auror: Chicago, NYC  
No announcement of transfer in paper 

Then, on the bottom half of the page:

 __Robards??  
Knows all mission details  
Not actually involved in missions – safety in distance?  
Access to all Auror reports  
Long _history w DMLE – why?? No clear motivation  
Access to all Auror records – it would be dangerous if it were him!_

The red ink of the last sentence jumped off the parchment. He and Draco had discussed how suspicious it was that every one of their raids had been thwarted – including the one on Thursday night at Opium, although in a different way. Someone had given the Enkeli a warning that they would be there, with enough time that they were able to move their supply of the potion and lay a trap to kidnap Harry. But seeing the evidence that it could be someone so close to the mission, laid out so matter-of-factly, made Draco’s blood run cold.

What if someone else had known about Harry’s suspicions? It had seemed random that Harry’d been the one carried away after the attack at the bar, but that wasn’t right; it would have been easy for them to have taken Draco or any of the other Aurors as well. But Harry’d been separated from them during the fight, and Apparated away before they even noticed. There was always the possibility that he’d been singled out for being Harry Potter, but that didn’t fit the Enkeli’s past behavior. What if it had been a targeted attack?

Draco rushed to gather all Harry’s notes and Apparated to the lobby of St Mungo’s.

The bored wizard at the front desk jumped when Draco slammed his hands on the counter. “Harry Potter,” he said. “I need to see Harry Potter _right now._ ”

“It’s not visiting hours yet, sir–”

“I’m an Auror, and I don’t give a fuck about visiting hours! You need to tell me where Harry Potter is right now!”

The man’s hands shook as he paged through the patient log, searching for Harry’s name. “F-fourth floor,” he stuttered, “room f-fifteen A,” and Draco was on his way. The lift took too long to come, every second as the lights announced its descent beating away at his heart. He was probably being silly, even paranoid; Opal and Susan always gave Draco a hard time over what they called his ‘conspiracy theories.’ His overactive imagination was at it again; he’d walk into Harry’s room and he’d be there, he’d be _fine,_ there was no reason to think he wouldn’t be–

Until he unlocked the door to Harry’s room with a whispered _Alohomora_ and found it empty.

His heart plummeted. The sheets were pulled up over the flat hospital pillow. A miniature flutterby bush and Harry’s wand sat on the bedside table. Draco grabbed them both before he burst into the corridor and grabbed the nearest Healer.

“This was Harry Potter’s room, right?” he asked, resisting the urge to shake the poor witch. His nerves were sparking, his knees gone weak.

She looked through the open door and her eyes widened. “Y-yes?” she said. “Is something–”

“Where _is_ he?” Draco asked.

“He’s _gone_?” The Healer was clearly terrified.

“Who would have had access to his rooms overnight? I was told no visitors, but surely _someone–_ ”

“Only the other Aurors, sir, I only saw the Head Auror and those Detectives going in there.”

Robards and Tanaka. Just as Draco had feared.

With a loud _crack,_ he Apparated away.

The Atrium of the Ministry was just starting to come to life. The witches who ran the coffee cart in the corner were already there, chatting to each other in voices that echoed and bounced across the room. An elderly wizard yawned below the cheerful _Ask me anything!_ sign above the welcome kiosk. There were a few people coming to and from the bank of fireplaces on the far wall, but it was nothing compared to the crowd that would be filling the space if it were a weekday. Ignoring the startled looks he got, Draco ran towards the lifts, causing even more people to look his way; he ignored them, jumping into the first open lift and pounding the button for Level One.

It was predictably empty; Draco’s footsteps were muffled by the plush purple carpet as he jogged down the hallway. All of the doors were closed, locked, except that of the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic.

Draco barged in. Cho sat with her feet up on her desk, the arms of her oversized cardigan pooled around her elbows. She was reading the weekend edition of the _Prophet,_ a cup of tea spelled to hover at her shoulder. The staff of the Minister’s office took turns taking weekend and overnight shifts, so they were always accessible in case there was an off-hours emergency.

He’d never had to use it before, but he was profoundly grateful that it existed. “Cho, I need to speak to the Minister right now.”

\---

Ten minutes later, Draco was sitting in front of Cho’s desk with a mug of tea in his hands while she knelt at the hearth, speaking through the Floo to the Minister. Harry’s wand – which Draco hadn’t realized he was still holding – were sitting in front of him on the desk. As soon as he’d explained the situation to Cho, she’d gotten a very serious expression on her face. Draco was glad it was Cho’s turn to take the Saturday morning shift; he wasn’t sure the others in the Minister’s office would have taken his worries seriously. Cho had fetched him tea “with just a _tiny_ amount of Calming Draught, Draco, I’m not trying to poison you” and immediately called Shacklebolt.

Now she pulled her head from the flames and stood up, smoothing her skirt as she stepped away from the fireplace. Before Draco could ask her what the Minister had said, the Floo roared again, and Kingsley Shacklebolt himself stepped into Cho’s office.

Draco blinked and sat up straighter. It wasn’t that he’d never interacted with the Minister before, but he’d never been alone on the receiving end of Shacklebolt’s stoic, serious attention. Usually he had a supervisor, or at least Harry, to cower behind.

Cho seemed unaware of Draco’s internal panic as she Conjured a second chair for Shacklebolt.

“Tea, Minister?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m fine, Cho, thank you.” She sat back down behind her desk, and the Minister turned to Draco.

“Auror Malfoy,” he said. “Cho tells me that Harry is missing from St Mungo’s, but I’ll admit to being quite out of the loop on the current cases in the DMLE. Can you tell me what happened?”

Draco was surprised to hear Shacklebolt say that – as a former Auror himself, it was well known that he liked to keep up to date on active cases – but he started at the beginning, explaining the multiple raids that had failed because the Enkeli were tipped off that they were coming. When he described Harry’s kidnapping, Shacklebolt’s brow furrowed; when Draco explained that Robards had refused to send a rescue party for him, on the Minister’s orders, he shared a sharp look with Cho. Draco described using Legilimency to coax Harry out of the potion’s influence – skipping over exactly how he’d finally done it – and when he finally got to finding the notes at Harry’s apartment, he pulled them out of his pocket and tried to smooth them out to show Shacklebolt.

“And when I got to St Mungo’s, he was gone. I came here right away.” Draco darted a nervous glance at Cho. “Forgive my speculation, sir, but it’s got to be either Robards or Felicity Tanaka who’s working with the Enkeli. Possibly both, but my money’s on Tanaka; Harry’s right, we know barely anything about her history, she could easily be working with them.” Draco pointed to Harry’s notes, where he’d listed the reasons Tanaka was a suspect.

The Minister slumped back in his chair, running a hand over his shaved head. It was strange to see a posture of defeat on someone so strong and imposing. Shacklebolt sighed and glanced at Cho.

“We’ve messed up a bit, haven’t we?” he asked.

She smiled. “Just a bit.”

Shacklebolt nodded and sat back up. As soon as he did, it was impossible to imagine that he’d ever looked tired or drawn.

“The double agent is not Felicity Tanaka,” he said, “because Felicity transferred to your department in order to keep an eye on Gawain Robards.”

Draco’s mouth dropped open as Shacklebolt continued.

“My office has suspected for a while that Gawain’s loyalty had wavered, and that he’s had a hand in making some of your investigations more difficult. But we had no way of knowing if anyone else in the department was compromised, or who they might be. I spoke to my colleagues with MACUSA, and they offered to send us an Auror who would be able to investigate Gawain as well as contributing to the DMLE. Detective Auror Tanaka has been reporting directly to me on her investigation of Robards for the past fourteen months.”

“But if it wasn’t her, then that means–”

“Cho, I need to speak to Kingsley right now!”

Felicity Tanaka burst through the door of Cho’s office, and skidded to a stop when she saw Draco and Shacklebolt already seated at the desk.

The Minister sighed. “Felicity, please join us,” he said, Conjuring a chair for her. “I daresay you’re here to tell us that Gawain has taken Harry from St. Mungo’s, which is why Draco is here as well. He suspected that the culprit was either Gawain or you, so I’m afraid I had to tell him your true purpose here.”

To Draco’s surprise, Tanaka rolled her eyes. “Thank Merlin,” she said, the familiar name sounding odd in her flat American accent. “Now at least you’ll stop interfering in my investigation!”

“What?”

Tanaka laughed, a sound that Draco had never heard before. She’d been more relaxed in the past five minutes than Draco’d ever seen her; he, on the other hand, was ready to crawl out of his skin and back down to his office on Level Two.

“You and Potter,” she said, “have almost ruined my investigation. Telling Robards you suspected there was a double agent during meetings, charging ahead with that rescue yesterday when we could have used it as evidence to link Robards to the case–”

“How were we supposed to know you were on our side?” Draco burst out, then flushed, realising he’d just interrupted his direct supervisor in front of the Minister for Magic.

Shacklebolt didn’t look too bothered, though. “Past confusion notwithstanding,” he said, “the current issue remains that we now know for sure Gawain is working with the Enkeli, and they’ve got Harry.”

Draco’s heart beat like lead in his chest. He was glad to have finally learned the full picture of what had been happening behind the scenes for the past year, but it had been almost an hour since he’d learned Harry was missing from St Mungo’s. Another hour on top of how many others the Enkeli had had him. His stomach churned from thinking what they might have done.

“We have to go get him,” he said, words falling out in a rush. “With all due respect, sir, it was already a challenge to bring him out from the influence of the potion yesterday, and if they dose him again so soon, after he was already given so much…”

To his surprise, Tanaka reached out and placed her hand on Shacklebolt’s arm. “I agree with Auror Malfoy, Kingsley,” she said. “It’s not how we’d planned to do this, but Auror Potter’s safety is in jeopardy if we leave him with the Enkeli any longer.”

With a sigh, the Minister grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “I agree.” He cast an amused look towards Draco. “But we need to do it properly this time. Get a team together – only Aurors we know we can trust. Felicity, and I’m going to count on you and Draco to put together that list. Cho, we’ll need at least two others from our office here to handle the investigation of Robards. Everyone go home, take a few minutes, and we’ll reconvene here to start Flooing Aurors.”

Tanaka looked between Shacklebolt and Draco. “I’m ready to go now, sir, and I think I can say the same for Auror Malfoy.” She smiled as she said it, and – another in a long list of shocking things – the Minister laughed.

“Very well,” he said. “You may get started without me. I’ll be Flooing home to let Charlie know that I’ve been called in, and to put on proper shoes.”

\---

Things moved faster when you had the Minister for Magic on your side.

By the time Shacklebolt returned, Draco and Felicity had put together a list of Aurors they trusted. The Minister immediately sent them into another office to Floo as many of those Aurors as they could. By the time they returned with Opal, Dean, Susan, and a few Juniors trailing along behind them, Cho and Shacklebolt had relocated to the Minister’s office. It was bustling with two more staffers from the Minister’s office, a tall reedy wizard Draco suspected was an Unspeakable, and the stout, muscular man he recognized as the Head Unspeakable, who the Minister was currently telling off.

“What do you mean you don’t know the details of the Aurors’ open cases? You’re supposed to be working with them whenever they request it!”

Behind him, Draco heard Opal’s muffled snort and whisper of “fucking finally.”

Shacklebolt held up a hand to stop the Head Unspeakable’s protests. “I don’t care why you’ve been neglecting your responsibilities,” he said. “I just want you to track where Robards and the Enkeli have taken Auror Potter. We can discuss the rest later.”

There were murmurs of confusion among the group of Aurors, who the Minister finally noticed and came over to address. Draco escaped to sit on the sofa against the far wall while Shacklebolt spoke. He was glad to have an actual team and to be backed by the Minister, but his heart beat out every minute that was spent on planning rather than _doing._ While the Unspeakables discussed how to track where Robards had taken Harry, they could be getting even farther away, out of reach; they could be dosing Harry with the potion again, he could be trapped back in that nightmare world, watching Voldemort murder his mother over and over while he cowered in the cupboard under the stairs–

“Breathe, Draco.” Susan rubbed her hand gently down his spine. “Breathe. We’re going to find Harry. It’s going to be alright.”

He buried his face in his hands, curling at the waist. Susan kept stroking his back, whispering softly to him. “It’s going to be fine, Draco. Harry’s going to be fine.”

Doc Martens came into his vision and he looked up to see Opal frowning down at him. “Maybe you should stay here,” she said. “It’s been a rough few days, and I bet you barely slept.”

Draco shot up, forcing Opal to take a step back. “I am _not_ sitting around and waiting for you all to come back! I’m an Auror – Harry is m _y partner–_ ”

“No one’s suggesting he’s not, Draco,” Susan said, standing and folding his arms. “But you’re not in the best state of mind for a raid right now. We don’t want anything to happen to you because you’re not focusing.”

He rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I can’t just sit here and wait, Susan, I _can’t–_ ”

After a moment, Opal stalked away and Susan pulled him back down to the sofa. The other Aurors were pairing off as Shacklebolt explained their plan of attack. In some distant corner of his brain, Draco was embarrassed for them to see him so out of sorts.

Opal pressed a mug into his hand. “More Calming Draught,” she said. “You need it. The Minister says you can come, but only if you stay at the rear and out of the action. You’re dead on your feet.”

Draco nodded and sipped the drink.

\---

The Unspeakables brought them to Robards’s summer house. Everyone was quiet as they crept towards the house and the one light that shone in the kitchen, but Draco could imagine the comment about the Head Auror’s stupidity that Opal would make if she were next to him. As it was, Draco was at the very back, behind the Junior Aurors. If he’d been less exhausted, less jittery from nerves, he would have been offended to be treated like he was so inexperienced, but he knew Opal and Susan were right that he was in no shape for a raid. He just needed to be there to see that Harry was okay.

Draco had participated in many searches, but he’d never been on one where the Minister for Magic was the one to carefully dismantle the wards so they could get into a building. Shacklebolt was also the first one inside. That probably breached some protocol designed to keep the leader of their government safe, but the Minister was rightfully angry at his Head Auror and worried about Harry. Draco certainly was.

He and the two pairs of Junior Aurors were the last ones into the house. The other Aurors had already fanned out to investigate each floor of the house – their orders were to arrest Robards and anyone else they found who they suspected may be connected to the Enkeli. Draco wasn’t worried about that – he knew his coworkers were good at their jobs and would find any Enkeli there were to be found. He was searching for Harry.

Instinct and memories of the cottage-cum-headquarters they’d found Harry in the last time lead him up the stairs. At the top of the landing, a corridor stretched out on either side of him, longer than Draco would have expected from the outside of the building. At one end, Opal and another Auror were working their way down the hall, spelling doors open and casting revealing charms inside. They hadn’t gotten to the landing yet, so Draco turned left. His footsteps were muffled by the thick oriental runner as he whispered gentle unlocking spells and peeked into the rooms. It went against everything he’d ever learned in training about being safe and prepared, always having back-up in a potentially dangerous situation, telling another Auror before you did anything alone – but he didn’t care. Somewhere in this house was Harry, and Draco needed to go to him.

On first glance all of the bedrooms were empty. It made Draco itchy, something in his nerves telling him his partner was nearby, and when he gently toed a door open farther to double check, he caught movement in the corner of his eye. It was slight, but a _Lumos_ revealed Harry slumped against the wall, curled in on himself and shivering.

“Harry!”

Draco rushed to his side and dropped to his knees. He put a hand over Harry’s and found it cold. “Harry? Can you hear me?”

A violent shiver went through Harry. He listed to the side and Draco shifted to catch him as Harry’s eyes rolled back in his head. His arm flopped onto Draco’s leg, revealing the irritated pinpricks where he’d been given the potion by the Enkeli, and the antidote in St. Mungo’s. There was a fresh mark on his arm, as well – they must have given him another dose of Wings as soon as they got him out of the hospital, but after at least twelve hours under the influence and half of the course of the recovery potions, Harry’s body was being pushed to the breaking point. His body was rejecting the potion, having recognized it as toxic, while his mind was already being pulled into the dreamscape, which would be even more of a nightmare world by now.

“Harry, can you hear me at all?” Draco asked. Harry shuddered again, his legs straightening and his body slumping further. Draco tried to pull him into his lap, but his position was off, and he ended up with Harry half on top of him, his legs sticking out at a right angle. At least he was mostly upright.

For a second he thought Harry’s eyes had met his own, but then they were slipping shut, and Draco reacted instantly, slapping Harry lightly to force them to open. “You have to stay with me, Harry. I need you to stay with me, alright?” Draco cupped Harry’s face in his hands, trying to meet his eyes, but they were glazed and glassy, skittering around Draco’s face under heavy lids. “You’ve been given Wings, but we’re going to get you out of here and to St Mungo’s, alright? The Minister is here, and Tanaka and everyone – they’re going to catch those bastards and Robards, and you’re going to be fine, just fine, Harry.”

Harry tossed his head side to side. Draco couldn’t tell if it was part of another shiver, or an acknowledgment that Draco was there.

“Of course you’re going to be fine,” he said. “You’re the sodding Boy Who Lived. Don’t tell me after all that, a stupid dream potion is going to be what gets you?”

Harry let you a groan that could have been a vocalisation, but was probably just a cry of pain.

“You’ve got to stay with me, you idiot, because it’s quite rude to die on someone when they’ve only just realised they’re in love with you. I’m sorry I’ve been such a fool, and you’re welcome to give me hell about it for the rest of our days, but you have to _be_ there with me to give me hell about it, alright?”

In his arms, Harry had gone still, and yet Draco began to rock him, desperately, words falling from his lips without conscious thought.

“All those times you asked me out and I didn’t realise – you wanted to go on a proper date. I do, Harry, I want to go on a proper date with you; I want to spend the whole day with you, and do all the silly date things you want – and I know you, Harry, I know you’ll want to do everything sappy, and I won’t even complain if you’ll stay with me, Harry, I won’t complain at all. We can go to– to the zoo, that’s the sort of thing you’d enjoy, isn’t it? Walk around and look at all the animals, and you can tell me what the snakes are saying, and you’d probably want to see the lions too, wouldn’t you, insufferable Gryffindor that you are.”

Draco was crying now, and there was banging coming from the hallway, and yelling, and curses, but he focused only on Harry’s face – his dear, strained face, eyes now closed in unconsciousness. It was a parody of peacefulness, with the scratch across his cheek, the bags under his eyes.

“I owe you the zoo, don’t I? No matter how long you spend with the lions.” Draco knew he was babbling. “And I owe you that Quidditch match you wanted to go to, and the fancy restaurant on Diagon. I’m sorry I brought Pansy and Greg, that time, I really am. I want to give you that date, Harry, I want to give you a perfect day. I want to spend the day with you. I want to wake up next to you, and see you in the morning – I bet you’ve got horrible bedhead.” He laughed. It was watery.

“I still want to wake up with you. And for breakfast – we’ll imagine this is a Saturday, why don’t we, and neither of us has to work – for breakfast I want to sip coffee in bed, and then shower, and then take you to a patisserie and feed you a croissant. And then we can go to the zoo – I _want_ to go to the zoo with you, Harry, and I won’t complain or call it silly, I won’t – and then we can take a walk. Maybe in Hyde Park, I know you like the water.” He sniffed. “And we’d get sandwiches for lunch, and then we could go flying – it’s been so long since we’ve flown together, Harry. You’re so beautiful when you fly.”

Draco leant his cheek against the top of Harry’s head. His hair was soft and messy, and a stubborn piece stuck into Draco’s eye, but he didn’t care. “We could cook dinner together,” he said. “Pasta and sauce, that’s the only thing I can make really, and maybe I’d kiss you while the water boiled. And we’d eat curled up on the sofa, like we always do, except different.”

He smoothed Harry’s hair back and left his hand there, holding Harry tight against his chest, keeping his head tucked under his chin. It was how he imagined they might cuddle, if they ever got to just cuddle.

“It doesn’t have to be a Saturday, thought,” he said. “It doesn’t have to be a perfect day, Harry. I want you on all the days. I want you across from me in our office, I want you to make my tea and spell the cup so hot it burns my hand, I want you to keep drinking tea with too much milk in. I want to do reports with you, and for you to give me a hard time about how spicy I got my curry. I want to go to pub night and for everyone to know what it means when you put your arm around my shoulders. I want to wake up next to you even on the days when we only got three hours of sleep because Robards is a madman who doesn’t know how to plan raids.”

He’d lapsed into whispering, but at that he laughed, pulling away. His cheeks were sticky with tears. “Except he _is_ a madman, I suppose,” he said, “working for the Enkeli all this time. Can you believe it, Harry? I don’t think I can, for all he so obviously hated me.” Harry’s chest was still rising in Draco’s arms, but barely, weakly, and a fury unlike anything he’d ever felt bubbled up in Draco. “That’s alright, though, because I hate him too. I _hate_ him for doing this to you,” Draco said.

The tears were coming faster now, and he blinked them away. “You can’t leave me now that I’ve realised,” he whispered. “I’m sorry it took me so long, I’m so sorry, Harry, but you can’t leave me alone now that I finally have. I’m an idiot, and a fool, but I you Harry, and I know you think I can do anything but you don’t understand, because I really need you, I’ve always needed you. I wouldn’t have made it half so far without you, don’t you see that, and I’m sorry I was scared, but I do want you, Harry, I really do, I love you.”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut against the truth of those words. “I love you,” he whispered again, feeling the rightness of it settle over him like a _Protego._ He’d been living those words for years, it was dawning on him now, even if he’d only given sound to them a few hours ago.

“I love you,” he said, and opened his eyes when Harry jerked in his arms, then abruptly stilled. His chest had stopped moving, his fingers stopped trembling; the light puffs of air that had been brushing over Draco’s arm had ended.

“Harry?” Draco whispered. His heart beat in protest of what he was seeing. “ _Harry!_ ”

And before he knew it he was sobbing, struggling to pull his wand out and casting every healing spell he could think of at the body in his arms. They all rolled off Harry like water, and by the time Opal burst into the room, drawn by the noise of his sobs, Draco couldn’t even see what he was doing for the tears in his eyes.

\---

“Go home, Malfoy.”

Draco shook his head instinctively, and only once he looked up realised it was the Minister speaking to him.

“I can stay,” he said. His voice came out croaky and soft, a product of not drinking enough water on top of dehydrating crying.

“You’re dead on your feet,” Shacklebolt said, and Draco was opening his mouth to inform him that actually he was _sitting,_ thank you very much, when Tanaka came to join the attack.

“Listen to Kingsley, Draco,” she said. “You’re not any use to us here, and we have no idea how long it’s going to be. We’ll owl you as soon as anything happens.”

Draco glanced at the double doors behind which a team of Mungo’s staff was trying to draw Harry back from the strange place he’d been sent by the potion. If he hadn’t been here with the Minister, Draco never would have been able to get so close to where Harry was. Draco had offered to use Legilimency again, but had been swiftly shut down by everyone. Harry’s Healer had looked horrified by the prospect.

“Floo,” he said absently, and Tanaka quirked an eyebrow.

“Pardon?”

“You have to use the Floo, you can’t owl. The Floo is faster.”

“Of course,” Shacklebolt said, holding out a hand. “We’ll Floo you as soon as anything changes.”

“Promise?” Draco murmured as the Minister for Magic pulled him to his feet. If he’d been less exhausted with worry, he would have been embarrassed, but as it was he had no space for that in his brain.

“We’ll Floo you as soon as he wakes up,” Tanaka said. “As long as you promise to go home and _sleep,_ Draco.”

\---

Draco slept until six, at which point he was woken by the Floo chiming; it was Felicity Tanaka, telling him that Harry had been stabilised but was still unconscious. He wanted to return to the hospital right that second, but she reminded him that visiting hours would be over at seven, and that the Healers didn’t expect Harry to wake up before at least the next morning. Shortly after she ended the call, Dean and Susan appeared at his flat with a box of pizza. Draco doubted it was a coincidence, but appreciated the distraction.

They left around midnight, and Draco managed another four hours of fitful sleep, his worry-fueled imagination kicking into overdrive now that he wasn’t exhausted. At five he gave up on sleep. He cleaned his entire apartment and cooked a full breakfast he didn’t have the appetite for before Apparating to St Mungo’s.

Opal and Cho were yawning in the chairs in the lounge when he got there, having been deputised by Kingsley and Tanaka to keep an eye on Harry overnight. When he asked which was Harry’s room, Opal showed him to the door, then clapped a hand on his shoulder as she left.

“You can watch him now,” she said, “I’m going to go home and _sleep._ ”

Cho followed her out with a sleepy wave.

Harry was in a private room. The curtains were drawn, and the only light came from the monitoring spells that floated above his bed, glowing a bright turquoise. Draco opened half of the curtains, so a panel of sun splashed across Harry’s legs, but not his face, before he sat in the chair next to the bed. Harry’s face looked drawn and a little bloodless, and his hair was an oily mess. He was beautiful.

Draco leaned in to kiss Harry’s cheek. His stubble was scratchy under his lips. He pressed his forehead to Harry’s shoulder and left it there just for a moment – he just needed to feel that he was solid, and here, and real…

“And your other arm, Mr. Potter?”

Draco’s eyes fluttered open and he realised he had fallen asleep on Harry’s pillow, leaning against Harry’s shoulder, which was moving under his cheek as Harry shifted. There was a Healer in the room, too, who smiled gently at Draco as he blinked awake, then turned Harry’s arm over to cast at him. Draco sat up and tried to shake off his drowsiness. He was embarrassed at the Healer finding him passed out against his partner’s arm until he caught sight of the pleased expression on Harry’s face.

The Healer finished and left them alone in short order. Draco shifted in his seat, suddenly aware that the last time he and Harry had been alone and in their right minds, they’d been in the middle of the fight.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep on you,” he said finally. “You should have woken me, I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s alright,” Harry said. “I was going to let you rest, but they came to check on me and saw I was awake, and then they insisted on doing a bunch of tests. You know.”

Draco nodded. Harry was awake, and safe, and watching him with an expression Draco couldn’t make sense of but which made his chest feel warm and gooey.

He didn’t know what to say, and hadn’t quite decided on the words that came out of his mouth.

“I think I owe you an apology.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, and Draco held up a hand. “No, I do. I’ve been everything you said. Obtuse, and oblivious, and willingly in denial. Valentine’s, and the restaurant in Diagon...you were right, Harry. I just didn’t think it was possible you could really like...me.”

Harry grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Why wouldn’t I like you, you idiot?” Draco opened his mouth to start the list, and Harry covered it with his palm. “No,” he said. “I don’t want to hear it. I just want you to know that I love you.”

Draco reached up and removed Harry’s hand, kissing his knuckles before he threaded their fingers together again. “I love you too,” he whispered.

Harry had that look in his eyes again, the one Draco had never been able to translate, but which he now recognised as something like adoration.

“I know we have a lot to talk about,” Harry said. “The case, and work, and us. But I’m exhausted, and I don’t know what of the past three days I’ve dreamt and what was real, so could you just...stay?”

“Stay?”

“Yeah.” Harry scooted a few inches over and patted the spot next to him on the bed. “Stay. And I might take a nap. And when I wake up, we can talk about all the dates you owe me.”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh. “There’s not room for me,” he argued. It was true. The hospital bed was narrow, and Harry on his back took up more than half of it. Draco would end up half on top of Harry if he tried to fit.

Harry scooted over a bit more and raised his arm. “There’s room,” he said.

“I’ll squish you. You’re recovering. What will your Healers say?”

“Draco, I promise you won’t squish me. Please.”

Reluctantly, Draco sat on the bed and pulled his legs up. One of them was almost completely falling off until Harry wrapped his arm around Draco’s shoulders and pulled him in. He found himself on his side, leaning into Harry, who happily placed Draco’s arm around his waist and leaned their heads together.

“See? You fit,” he said. “You fit right next to me.”

\---

It was strange to get to the office on Monday for multiple reasons. After the upheaval of the weekend, it was odd to be back at the Ministry like it was any other day. Harry wasn’t back yet, either – the Healers had kept him at St Mungo’s for one more night, and if all went well he’d be discharged later that day. Draco was planning to leave work early to help him get back to his flat. He wouldn’t be cleared to return to work for another few days, and Draco supposed he ought to take advantage of the time alone in the office to sort out his thoughts, but the unnatural silence of the room – only his quill scratching, his foot tapping, the muffled clunk as he set his mug back down on his desk – made his temples throb.

That’s why the knock on the door was so startling.

“Draco, may I speak to you for a moment?” Tanaka was leaning through the open door, her hair falling in front of her face.

“Of course, Detective Auror Tanaka. Please come in.” Draco hurried to stand and Conjure a chair, Vanishing the remains of his breakfast sandwich as he did so.

“Please, let’s dispense with the formalities. Call me Felicity.”

Draco swallowed, sitting back down behind his desk as Tanaka gracefully lowered herself into her chair. “Felicity, then. What can I do for you?”

“In light of recent events, Kingsley has promoted me to Head Auror,” Felicity announced. “It’s not going to be made official until the details of Gawain’s arrest and trial are released to the public, but I felt you should be among the first to know given your and Harry’s involvement with the Wings case.” She smiled wryly. “Although you weren’t a help to my investigation, your tenacity was quite admirable.”

“Thank you?” Draco ventured.

“I’m planning some changes for this department,” Felicity said. “There’s been a lot going uncorrected while Robards was planning out his schemes, and I need to know that the people who are here are committed to serving the DMLE and the Ministry. So I wanted to ask you, have you ever thought about applying to be a detective?”

Draco blinked at her. “What?”

“Do you have any interest in applying to be a detective? You’ve never applied before, and you’re plenty qualified – both you and Auror Potter are. You’re the most accomplished out of each of your training classes, but you’re still in the general corps.”

“Did Harry put you up to this?” Draco asked.

Felicity looked confused. “No,” she said. “I haven’t even seen him since I left the hospital on Saturday.”

“Oh.” Draco exhaled shakily. “I’ve...I’ve thought about it,” he admitted.

“Any particular reason why you haven’t followed through?”

Draco shrugged. “Robards was never fond of me. He would never have approved the promotion.”

Felicity frowned. “Well, if it’s something you’re interested in, I would urge you to consider it, Draco. Gawain Robards isn’t the Head Auror anymore.”

\---

“Draco, I’m really fine. Come sit.”

“I’ve got to measure out your medicine!” Draco called from the kitchen. He’d left Harry tucked in on the sofa, feet on the coffee table, propped up by pillows. There was a _thump_ from the other room and he rushed to the doorway.

Harry was straining to reach a container of orange chicken, a box of rice upended on the floor.

“Harry,” Draco groaned, Levitating the rice back onto the coffee table.

“I’m hungry!” Harry said. “You know how bad the food at St Mungo’s is.”

“The Healer said you had to take this potion before you ate,” Draco said, bringing it to him and watching carefully as Harry downed it, making a face at the taste. He fetched plates from the kitchen and served up the food, and they began to eat in silence.

They hadn’t talked about anything serious yet. Draco had spent most of Sunday in Harry’s hospital room, but Harry had spent most of the day drifting in and out of sleep. When he’d arrived at St Mungo’s that afternoon, all their discussion had been logistical – did Draco know what potions Harry needed to take, what had happened at the office that day, where did they want to pick up dinner. Then when they’d gotten back to Harry’s flat, Chinese food in hand, Draco’d busied himself with getting Harry situated. But there were no more excuses now.

Harry set his plate on his knees and half-turned to face Draco.

“We should probably talk.”

Draco put his own plate on the coffee table and smoothed his trousers over his thighs. “Yes.”

“I love you,” Harry said, and even though Draco had said it back now, it still surprised him, the ease with which Harry let those words fall off of his lips. “I want to be with you. I’ve said that before, but maybe you didn’t realise how I meant it?”

He paused. Draco nodded. “I thought you just wanted...something casual. Shagging. I thought you’d get bored with me.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t want casual, Draco.”

“But our jobs…”

Draco trailed off. He knew it was a feeble excuse, the same one he’d been throwing in Harry’s face for months, but it couldn’t be ignored.

“You said Felicity invited you to apply for detective,” Harry said. “I might apply for detective too. And detectives don’t have regular partners, so I don’t think they could have any issue with it.” He grabbed Draco’s hand, squeezing it. “Why do you keep finding ways that this might not work? Why can’t we at least try, Draco?”

Draco shrugged. Harry’s hand in his was warm. Their fingers twined together looked familiar and comfortable. “It’s not that I don’t want to try. It’s that it’s hard to believe you could really want me.”

Harry’s eyes were sad and strong all at once. “I want you, Draco. I want this, I want us. I want all those dates you promised me, and all the embarrassing things you probably saw in my head. I think we could be really great together.” He pulled Draco’s hand into his lap, tugging him closer and wrapping both hands around it. “And if I wasn’t recovering from a potion overdose, I would show you everything else I want to do with you.”

Draco’s breath caught, and he was a glutton for punishment, so he asked. “Like what?”

Harry smiled, his eyes intense as they landed on Draco. “I want to undress you and taste every inch of you. I want to take you to my bed. I want to spread you out across your desk and suck you till you cry. You don’t know how many times you’ve been sitting there doing work and that’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

Their foreheads were pressed together now, and Draco was flushed but didn’t want to pull away. “I’d be too heavy,” he said, tongue running away from him, and Harry shook his head roughly.

“Not a chance.” Harry’s lips whispered across Draco’s. “I want all of you, Draco Malfoy.”

Their lips met in a natural progression of their closeness. Harry’s mouth tasted faintly of oranges, especially when he opened it and urged Draco to kiss him deeper. It’d been ages since Draco had been kissed for the sake of kissing, and he savoured it, savoured the feelings that such a simple act could stir up in him.

When Harry pulled away, eyes fluttering with sleepiness, his voice was content. “I love you.”

Draco didn’t hesitate before replying in kind.

Epilogue: 2 months later

They’d been in front of the lion enclosure for a good twenty minutes, and Draco was starting to get fidgety. He’d observed the lions politely, wandered off to look at the tigers in the opposite enclosure, wandered back, pointedly looked at his watch, and tapped his foot to no avail. Finally he came up next to Harry and crossed his arms, clearing his throat.

“Are you done here?”

Harry straightened up and shot him a grin. “When you said you wanted to go to the zoo, you promised you wouldn’t get annoyed, no matter how much time I spent at the lions.”

Draco frowned. “I did no such thing,” he said, and then his memory caught up – Harry unconscious in his arms while Draco babbled about everything he wanted to do – and he glared.

“I can’t be held to things I said when you were dying,” he said, half-cross, but he reached out to grab Harry’s hand, the memory of that day making him shiver.

“I know,” Harry said, voice softer, as he stepped in and squeezed Draco’s hand back. “I just wanted to see how long it would take you to say something.”

“Harry Potter!” Draco scolded. “And after you gave me such a hard time in the reptile house.”

Harry shrugged, leaning in to kiss him. It started off as a quick kiss, then grew to two, then three, as Harry wound his arms around Draco’s waist to pull him closer, and Draco let him.

The sound of someone clearing their throat drew them apart. A severe-looking older woman with a small boy in a stroller was frowning at them.

“Sorry, are we blocking the view?” Harry said. He pulled Draco away from the glass and kissed him again, trying to make it messy, but Draco didn’t let him.

“I think you’ve made your point,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. The woman was still glaring at them in disapproval. “Now come on, I still want to see the koalas.”

Harry acquiesced easily, wrapping his arm through Draco’s as they wandered down the path. With anyone else, Draco would have been embarrassed to be caught kissing in the zoo, worried what everyone around them was thinking about his size and sexuality. And he did still worry about it – he knew his cheeks had gone flushed, and he half-wished that Harry wasn’t hanging on to him so obviously. But he could feel emanating from Harry pure satisfaction and joy at being at the zoo with Draco, and it made him worry less than he would have otherwise.

Draco lingered longer than he would have in front of the koalas, a little bit of payback, though from the smile on Harry’s lips it was clear he knew and didn’t care. After they left the zoo, they went for dinner at an Algerian restaurant Harry had been begging Draco to try for weeks. He insisted they share two dishes so Draco could try more than one thing, and Draco let him. They’d gotten there early, and the place was just starting to fill up when they left to walk back to Harry’s flat.

There was no discussion about whether or not Draco wanted to come in; Harry opened the door for him and Draco entered. Harry hung their coats on the rack as Draco wandered into the kitchen. The paperwork they’d been working on that morning was still spread across the table; although Harry’d been promoted to detective as well, so they were no longer permanent partners, Felicity often assigned them to the same cases. Doing paperwork in his pyjamas with a sleep-rumpled Harry sitting across from him was Draco’s new favorite way to do work.

He spelled the parchments into a pile and fetched himself a glass of water. “Do you want anything?” Draco called, setting his glass down on the worktop. He was surprised when Harry pressed him back against the counter and pulled him into a kiss, deep and filthy with no prelude.

“You,” Harry said simply, winding his hands into Draco’s hair and pulling their mouths back together. Draco had been surprised by how little of their relationship had been tentative – he was used to holding part of himself back in relationships, waiting for the other person to get tired of him, always feeling tense. With Harry, their years of friendship meant that from their first date he was completely relaxed and comfortable; rather than maintaining a safe distance, he relished finally being able to pull Harry close, to lean into him in the ways he’d been longing to. This kiss was just like that: no hesitation or need to acclimate, just Draco and Harry, mouths open and wanting, Harry’s warm, firm hands on his body. It didn’t take long for the kiss to become a whole body affair, Harry’s hand tight in the hair at the nape of Draco’s neck while his hips began to roll, Draco using his own leverage against the counter to match his movement.

Harry pulled away and met Draco’s eyes as he went for the hem of his shirt, starting to pull it out of his trousers. He understood, without them ever having discussed it, that some days Draco wouldn’t want to be undressed in Harry’s brightly lit kitchen, and always gave Draco the opportunity to stop him. This time, Draco didn’t mind, and happily pulled Harry back into another kiss as his shirt was untucked and unbuttoned and Harry slipped his hands inside.

The touch to his sides tickled at first, but Draco quickly relaxed into it, letting Harry guide their movements as they ground together, hips bucking wildly.

“Merlin, I’ve been wanting to touch you all day.” Harry’s pupils were dark and wide, his lips red. When he wrapped his arms all the way around Draco, pressing their bodies even tighter together, his palms on Draco’s back were hot. He kissed the spot underneath Draco’s ear that always made him shiver, his words almost muffled.

“Can I suck you?”

Draco’s breathing skipped. “In your kitchen?”

“Please, Draco.” Harry leaned in to kiss below his ear, his words almost muffled. “I’ve been waiting to touch you all day.”

Draco leaned his head back and rested his elbows on the counter. “Alright,” he said, and Harry looked blissful as he sank to his knees, immediately nosing at the bulge in Draco’s jeans.

“Merlin, you’re gorgeous.” Harry’s voice was low and rough as he carefully unbuttoned and unzipped, pulled Draco’s trousers and pants halfway down his thighs, and began to work.

Harry gave the most thorough and enthusiastic blowjobs of anyone Draco had been with, even back when he was younger and more fit. He didn’t rely on repetitive motion to bring his partner off, and he didn’t limit himself to simply sucking and stroking like so many of the men Draco had been with. Harry clutched at his arse, explored the sensitive skin inside Draco’s thighs with his fingers, kissed all over Draco’s stomach and hips. By the time he finally touched his lips to the head of Draco’s penis, Draco was trembling at the knees, clutching at Harry’s hair. It felt good, overwhelmingly so – both the physical sensation of Harry’s hot mouth and talented fingers, and the way that Harry was looking him, eyes burning behind his glasses. The way Harry looked at him made Draco feel taken apart. He was on the edge of coming when Harry pulled off and surged to his feet, pressing Draco back against the counter as he sealed their mouths together.

He should have felt ridiculous, making out in Harry’s kitchen with his clothes half-off, but he found he didn’t care. He liked that his unbuttoned shirt meant Harry could dig his hands into Draco’s sides, he liked the way he could feel Harry’s erection pressing into the soft skin of his thigh, even if the material of his jeans was rough against Draco’s sensitive cock.

After a deep, rolling kiss, Harry noticed Draco’s plucking at his collar and pulled of his jumper. He pushed Draco’s shirt off his shoulders and they both moaned at the feeling of skin on skin.

“I want to fuck your thighs,” Harry announced, his gaze on Draco’s heavy-lidded as he ground into Draco’s leg. His breath was hot, their lips almost touching. “Can I?”

Draco trembled. “If you want to,” he said, as Harry started to push Draco’s trousers farther down his legs.

“I really do.” Harry was working on his own jeans now. His cock was straining at his pants, and Draco had to reach out and stroke it, and Harry got distracted thrusting into his hand, but finally they got their clothes off and Harry had Draco turned around and slightly bent over the counter. He kept running his hands over Draco’s sides and arse, and it felt so good Draco couldn’t help but arch backwards.

The displaced air as the bottle of olive oil flew past his face startled him, and he laughed as he heard Harry slicking his cock before a slippery hand slid between his legs.

“Olive oil? Really– _oh._ ” Draco gasped as Harry’s prick pressed between his legs. He braced his hands on the counter as Harry began to thrust.

After the first few thrusts, when he’d established a rhythm, Harry let go of his hips and wrapped his arms around his middle instead, playing with Draco’s cock as his own slid sweetly between his thighs. He pressed wet kisses to Draco’s shoulders as he quickened his pace, and Draco moaned when Harry’s penis rubbed up against the underside of his balls.

“Fuck, Draco.” Harry’s words came out in a pant, his hand on Draco’s prick speeding up. Draco groaned and tried to rock back to meet him while still keeping his thighs pressed together. “Merlin, you feel amazing, you always do.”

Draco dropped to his elbows on the counter, letting his head fall forward as Harry moved behind him. His reach was awkward now, so he batted Harry’s hand out of the way and grabbed his own cock, stroking in time with Harry’s thrusts. With his hands free, Harry mapped Draco’s body, tracing lines down his sides and his hips, holding his middle, and exploring his chest.

When Harry began to play with Draco’s nipples, Draco trembled and squeezed his own cock harder. Harry knew how to push Draco’s buttons, and used that knowledge to his full advantage until Draco was cursing and coming across the cabinets, calling Harry’s name.

“Draco, fuck, _fuck,_ ” Harry cried. Draco braced himself as Harry sped up, the noise of his cock between Draco’s legs loud in the room. “Love you,” Harry gasped as he pushed in and stayed there, his come splattering onto Draco’s thighs.

After a few deep breaths with his chest pressed to Draco’s back, Harry pulled out and stood, helping Draco to his feet as well. Draco felt trembly and sated, and leaned into Harry for a kiss, feeling soft and melty.

Harry pulled away to grab his wand from his jeans pocket and cast a few cleaning charms. Draco smiled when his legs were clean of olive oil and come, and kissed Harry again.

“Bed now?” Harry asked, rubbing a hand along Draco’s spine.

“Yes.” Draco let Harry lead him down the hall to his bedroom. He took the first turn in the en suite, then pulled back the sheets and scooted to the far side of the bed while Harry was in the bathroom. When Harry came back Draco watched as he put his glasses on the bedside table and spelled the lights off. Then he joined Draco in bed, pulling the covers up over them and immediately wrapping his arm around Draco’s waist. He used the other to prop his head up so he was hovering slightly above Draco.

“Hi,” he whispered.

Draco smiled. “Hi.”

Harry leaned down and kissed him, a dance of lips and tongues that required nothing else. Despite the space between their bodies, Draco felt entirely enveloped in Harry. He reached a hand up to run it through Harry’s curls, keeping their mouths locked together.

Eventually their movements slowed and Harry slumped down onto him. Draco broke the kiss and opened his eyes. They resisted the motion. He was tired.

“I’m sleepy,” Harry whispered, cupping Draco’s cheek with one hand. He half-rolled off of Draco and lay down on the bed, lifting his arm when Draco shifted to roll over. As soon as Draco was settled on his side, Harry slid in behind him, returning his arm to Draco’s waist. His hand landed in the middle of Draco’s stomach and he ran it up and down before gently squeezing Draco closer. None of Draco’s exes had paid much attention to his stomach, as though by not touching the layer of pudge that surrounded his middle, they could ignore the way it impacted Draco’s life. But Harry never hesitated to touch Draco’s squishy stomach, or his jiggly arse and wobbly thighs. Now, he sighed happily, pressing his legs to the back of Draco’s and stroking his tummy with his thumb.

Harry hummed happily and kissed the back of Draco’s neck.

Draco pulled Harry’s hand away from his body, turning half onto his back so he could see Harry’s face.

“You’re happy, aren’t you?”

“I’m so happy.” Harry’s brow furrowed with confusion. “Why are you asking?”

Draco turned his head and let go of Harry’s hand, which he returned to its previous position right away.

“I worry,” Draco said simply. He was sure Harry heard the unspoken fears behind the statement – fears that had been fed with every relationship that had ended, the same fears that had made him keep Harry at arm’s length for so long.

Harry gently pulled Draco towards him so they were facing each other, his fingers tightening on Draco’s side.

“I can’t see the future,” Harry said. “We haven’t been...this is new, you know? I’m not going to promise you forever. Yet. But I’m staying, Draco. It’s been twenty years, and you haven’t been able to get rid of me completely.” Draco huffed out a laugh, and Harry brushed their lips together, feather-soft.

“I love you, Draco, and I can’t imagine a world in which I don’t love you. No matter what happens, I’m staying.”

The pure joy Draco felt at hearing those words had yet to dim with repetition. Harry was free with his affection, and told Draco in many ways every day how much he cared. Draco was grateful; every _I love you_ was a balm against his fear and self-loathing, and even though he didn’t say it back every time, he whispered it against Harry’s lips every morning when they woke up and every night before they fell asleep.

He did so now, kissing the words against Harry’s lips as his eyelids drifted closed. “I love you too, Harry Potter.”

**Author's Note:**

> Further description of tags; some include spoilers:
> 
> insecurity/body image - Draco is fat in this story, and thinks about his body image/worries about how he looks
> 
> potions abuse - the case Draco and Harry are investigating is about a drug-like poti called Wings which causes users to see their wildest dreams/most terrible nightmares
> 
> brief mentions of addiction and overdose - in the context of the potions case, the fact that the potions is addictive is discussed, and there is a mention of finding victims who overdosed/the dangers of overdose
> 
> forced drugging - when Harry is kidnapped, he is given Wings against his will to keep him subdued; there are no permanent effects, although Draco worries about him going into withdrawal when they remove him from the source
> 
> canonical violence - Draco experiences Harry’s nightmares, including the Sectumsempra scene and Lily’s muder
> 
> brief use of an IV - Harry is given the potion via an IV; it is not graphic
> 
> Prompt additional info: "Harry & Draco have been Auror partners for years, Draco has been denying his feelings for years and pretending he doesn't know Harry is in love with him. When Harry is captured on a raid and held hostage/prisoner it forces Draco to examine why he's kept him at distance, and to admit how much he loves him too."
> 
> Many people helped me in the process of creating this story. Specifically, I would like to thank: **sliceosunshine** and **nerdherderette** for offering feedback on the outline when this story was just a far-fetched idea; **pansypxrkinson** and **foularcadebanana** for reading early iterations and cheering me on; **goldentruth813** for leaving such a wonderful prompt, letting me bounce ideas, and making sure the story actually made sense; **aibidil** for beta-reading and fielding a variety of strange messages related to this story; and everyone in the drarry discord who encouraged me throughout the process of writing this through sprints, wireless commiseration, and “you’ve got this!” messages.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated <3 Find me on tumblr @violetclarity.


End file.
